Ravenous
by LadyNRA
Summary: Pete and Myka are sent on a mission to discover why wild animals are attacking city dwellers. Rated T for some minor amounts of violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Ravenous

**Author:** LadyNRA

**Rating**: PG

**Spoilers**: None that fans wouldn't know already

**Characters**: Artie, Pete and Myka

**Genre**: Drama (more or less)

**Disclaimer**: The producers and Syfy may own it but I'm taking the time to play with the characters (especially Artie) for a little while.

**Summary**: Pete and Myka are sent on a mission to discover why wild animals are attacking city dwellers.

**Author's Note: **I started this back around Thanksgiving and, while it wrote itself out fairly quickly I have been lax about getting it up here. I sincerely want to thank my beta reader who knows the show and characters. The corrections and suggestions were few but definitely on the money and I want to say THANKS!!

**RAVENOUS**

**oooooooooooooooooooo**

**Chapter 1**

**oooooooooooooooooooo**

Hunger, ravenous and pervasive, tore through the gut of the animal, driving him relentlessly onward. Pink tongue lolling, he panted as he loped across the terrain, over cool, hard surfaces that bruised his pads and made weary legs ache. Moonlight dappled his fur, slate gray and shining silver. Yellow eyes burned in the darkness with a feverish light, growing more intense with each hungry moment.

He ran between high stone edifices, his keen ears bombarded by a cacophony of sounds he could barely sort out. Sensitive nostrils flared widely as he detected the faint smell of food not too far in the distance. He pushed powerful haunches harder, breaking into a fast gallop. Rounding a corner, he slid to a halt. The rough asphalt under his skinned pads did nothing to distract his focus. Crouching slightly, he moved forward, silently, a stealthy gray and silver shadow merging with reflections in storefront windows. He paused by garbage pails that smelled good but not nearly as enticing as the prey ahead. Instinct nearly made him want to whine at the temptations around him but he had to choose and he did so in an instant.

Ahead and just to the left, a strange mound grew up out of the ground. Leaning against it were two lean, lanky figures bearing the distinct scent of a viable food source. He dropped to a crouch, slinking closer, barely daring to breathe lest it attract the attention of the two creatures before him. Drool started to flow in tiny rivulets from strong jaws lined with sharp teeth. He suppressed the urge to utter a low growl while he edged closer to study his quarry.

One was a female, obviously in estrus, her peculiar and distinct odor sinking deep into his nostrils. He whuffed at it, the scent of blood exciting him. The male was a different story, his stink was earthy, mixed with the odor of the deep forest, pine trees and cedar. Strong, enticing, beckoning. The knot in his stomach twisted with a painful wrench. Hungry…so very hungry. The urge to feed was so powerful that he almost tossed caution to the wind. But the hunting instincts of his species won out and he crept stealthily onward until he was almost within striking distance.

The male and the female before him were so entwined it would have been hard to visually tell them apart in the dark, at least to members of their own species, but his night vision was so much better than that of these pathetic creatures. He saw them clearly. Pheromones flowed from one to the other, almost palpable, weaving a nearly visual net between them. The male was caressing the female, who moaned with the pleasure of it. Both were totally unaware of their visitor.

A tiny growl slithered between snarling teeth. Thigh muscles bunched and suddenly uncoiled, propelling him in the direction of his unwary dinner.

It was by mere circumstance that the female turned his way just as he sprang off the pavement. The truth was that he didn't much care which one he caught. Oppressive need boiled in his blood and either of them would have sufficed to assuage the flaming hunger in his belly.

The male, not surprisingly, reacted first as he felt her tense. He backed away from the hard object he'd previously pinned the female against. She looked at him then, her eyes growing wide in panic, her mouth opening into an enormous "O", then gasped like a goldfish out of water. Her scream of pure unadulterated terror sliced through the night air. She whirled, grabbed something on the 'rock' in the road and yanked it back. A panel opened and she jumped inside, slamming the panel shut behind her. There was a loud click as something inside moved.

The male's scent of fear pervaded the whole area, heightening after having heard the noise from inside the hollow rock. He bolted for the panel and tried to yank it open but it wouldn't yield to his efforts. With a strangled cry, he turned to face his attacker, staring at the enormous wolf padding slowly toward him. Wicked teeth grinned at him. Gold eyes flamed with its rapacious need. Like most prey, the male had not bolted. Instead he had chosen to freeze and this made the wolf's job so very easy.

Silently, he jumped on the male, rending and tearing, first on the arm thrown up in defense and then at the throat. He felt his teeth slide into the warm pulsing flesh, felt the fresh blood slide down his parched throat. And all the while, the female screamed from a position of relative safety while he fed on the still quivering carcass.


	2. Chapter 2

**oooooooooooooooooooooo**

**Chapter 2**

**Oooooooooooooooooooooo**

"So what's the good news for today, oh great and fearless leader" Pete Lattimer asked expectantly of their boss who sat before his computer, dark eyes trained on the images flashing before him.

Arthur Nielsen didn't deign to turn around or acknowledge the latter half of the comment beyond giving a brief deep-chested grunt. His hands danced over the antiquated keyboard for several seconds then strayed over to the large black touch-pad nearby. Soon his fingertips were skating over the dark surface, one hand sliding vertically, the other horizontally in a coordinated ballet of movement as he sought to isolate images racing over the monitor before him. Those images, many of them live feeds from security cameras, surveillance equipment, and even cell phones, flashed and disappeared as Artie discarded them one after another.

Not bothering to try to make sense of what he was seeing, Pete just watched the deft movements of his superior's hands playing that pad like it was a finest violin ever made, saving this, discarding that almost as fast as he eye could register it. "_How does he do that_?" he wondered, not for the first time, or the fifteenth for that matter. "_Crazy gift_," he amended, pondering how his 'vibes' bore some similarity to Artie's, except as a different manifestation of it.

A thumping up the stairs from the main warehouse floor alerted Pete to the presence of Claudia Donovan, tech extraordinaire, followed by Myka Bering, his partner in crime. The latter languidly strolled up to him and glanced over Artie's shoulder. Claudia, sometimes far too bouncy for her own good, dumped her tool belt and parked her rear end onto a table.

"Did I miss something good?" she asked with a bright smile and a quick toss of her red hair to clear it out of her eyes, then continued hopefully. "More leads?"

Artie's back stiffened visibly though his hands didn't stop their tango across the pad. He carefully curbed the anger that surged fiercely into his heart and mind. There was no hostility toward the questioner, only at the object of the question itself. Lately, everything boiled down to one word…one name. "MacPherson," he growled low and rough, "has been flying under the radar for weeks. I decided it was time to get back to the business of saving the world from its own evil impulses."

"You're starting to sound like Batman," Claudia smirked. "I mean, look at this place. A steampunk version of the batcave, don'tcha think?"

"Listen, Batgirl, why don't you run along and find me my cowl, while I run these images through the bat computer."

"Hey geezer, I got news for ya. Even if I find the cowl, you ain't gonna fit in the batsuit without a seriously intensive exercise program."

The hands stopped their motions, and a curly-haired head swung ever so slowly in her direction. Instinctively, Claudia started to back away. There was never any doubt that Artie would avoid harming her physically. However, one of those disapproving parental glares could turn her insides gelatinous, if only because the punishments he conjured up were usually unbearably tedious and interminably time consuming. For a hyperactive teenager, that was a fate worse than death as far as she was concerned.

Slender hands raised submissively, she hollered, "Okay, okay, I give up. No more teasing…for today." She back-stepped some more. "um…for a couple of hours." A few more steps. Almost to the door. "Well, for an hour at east." She bolted for the opening, dashed down the length of the open platform, and hopped down the steps two at a time. Whatever Artie was up to, she'd find out about it soon enough, she decided. She'd gotten good at coercing Pete to fess up.

As soon as Claudia had made good on her escape, Artie turned back to his work. Myka and Pete closed in once more.

"That was easier than expected," Artie commented conversationally.

Pete scratched an itch on his shoulder but wasn't as successful at reaching it as he'd hoped. He tried again. "Things are not exactly as they appear," he informed Nielsen.

"Oh?" Artie's hands had slowed to a very up close and personal waltz. Several more images were separated out and tucked onto one side of the screen.

"Myka would you—" Pete said pointing over his right shoulder. As she complied, seriously digging her nails in, Pete added, "Oh yeah, right there. Uh, Claudia will try to get it out of me later. It's all part of the game, ya know? I'll tell her whatever you tell me to tell her. No no, left, go left…up, up, just a bit more." He was definitely squirming now, trying to move his back to the position he wanted be in beneath her short but perfectly manicured nails.

Artie sighed forcefully enough to ruffle the fine hairs covering his forearms. "No need. For your information, I'm really not looking for MacPherson this time. He'll show up eventually, we can bet on it. But for now, I have received some…uh..._strong suggestions_ from Mrs. Frederick to get back to Warehouse business and that means a return to the usual routine."

"Okay, fine with me. I'm getting really tired of inventory." He waved off Artie's expected explanation on the necessity for such activities. "Hey, hey, I get it, '_inventory important'_. But I'd rather not be cooped up if I had a choice."

"You are indeed lucky today," Artie replied. His left hand had taken to gently pulling some of the silver hairs of his goatee, while the right one was manipulating data, pulling up newspaper articles previously isolated, and scanning televised images without benefit of sound. He selected one such news program and enlarged it, while simultaneously turning up the volume.

Together, all three agents listened to the newscaster saying, "…murdered tonight on Argyle Avenue. Autopsy reports indicate the death to be the result of some sort of animal attack. This is the second such attack in two days. Citizens in those neighborhoods are advised to be cautious when venturing outside at night."

"And this one," Artie pointed. "More reports of a dog or wolf attacking humans and feeding on the bodies. Coroners also think 'wolf' or a dog of similar size." He took a sip of cold coffee, made a face at it, but swallowed anyway.

"Local animal control can handle this one, don't you think?" Myka asked leaning around Pete, trying to catch Artie's eye. If there was one thing she didn't want to do, it was go on a wild dog chase just because the behavior of some animal was somewhat aberrant. "Hungry dog eats people, I understand that. But what makes you think it's something…bizarre. I'll bet stuff like this happens all the time. And don't tell me it's unusual for a wolf-husky mix to be found in a city. Besides, that city borders the forest land. Marauding animals are bound to wander in now and then."

Artie selected another report. When it filled the screen, Myka was able to read that a bag lady had been mauled to death by something at least as big as a bear, and partially consumed. "So what? If feral dogs can end up on the streets, so can a bear…I suppose."

"There haven't been reports of animal attacks in Coeburn, Oregon for several years. And none for about ten years before that. Now, we are seeing two distinctly different animals killing people in a very short span of time. You don't think that's unusual?"

"Freaky, maybe," Pete said, silently agreeing with Myka. He couldn't fathom what kind of artifact might be capable of summoning animals or why anyone would think it was useful, except for murder. And in these cases, one was a harmless old bag lady and the other a young man making out with his girlfriend. "But artifacty? I don't know. Why do you figure it needs our attention?"

Artie gave him a look similar to the one he typically reserved for Claudia when she irked him. "How long have you been working here, Pete?" he inquired mildly.

"Oh boy," Pete muttered under his breath. "Nearly eight months." He was starting to feel like a school child about to get detention for fooling around when he should have been studying.

"And have I ever sent you on an assignment that didn't contain the words 'weird occurrences' and 'probable artifact involvement' in the same sentence?"

"Uh, no?"

"And have I ever been wrong?" Artie's half-smile appeared.

"Not so far," Pete supplied innocently and realized belatedly how sarcastic it sounded.

The smile quickly turned to a frown. Pete jumped on his mistake and made a hasty effort to correct it. "I mean, no never. You are always right, master. You are the font of all wisdom. Speak and we obey." He genuflected with multiple hand flourishes and deep bows that simply looked silly. It made Myka smile and even Artie had a hard time maintaining a straight face although he still heaved an exasperated sigh in their direction.

"Trust me on this one. Let's review what we know so far. The girl involved with the first murder claimed to have witnessed the attack while trapped in the guy's car. She swore it was a wolf though as you pointed out it was most likely a wolf mix canine. Huge according to her but that could be terror talking."

He turned back to his screen and waved one finger at another article. "The other reports about the bear said pretty much the same thing. Another street person saw the bag lady being ravaged by something looking like a grizzly. He may have been plastered for all we know but according to the news article, he was very specific about the species of bear. I, however, would take that report with a grain of salt because the last grizzly in that state died in the 1930s. Of course, if it _was_ an escapee from a zoo or wildlife compound that would be a different story."

Nodding her comprehension, Myka leaned in for a closer look at his face though she knew there probably wouldn't be much more to it than what Artie had already told them. "Four attacks all told?"

"For now." She saw his curly head nod. "But I suspect there will be more. Police captain met with some of his detectives and brainstormed this. To date, they have no leads. Animal control has scoured the surrounding forest for signs of a bear or wolf and seen nothing conclusive although spoor for larger dogs was found. Hard to say if it's _the _dog or just another stray running wild."

Myka tried to catch Artie's eyes so she could look into them. She found when she was staring pointedly at him, he was more likely to be forthcoming with vital information.

Ultimately, it wasn't her movements that distracted him but her silence. His dark gaze flicked her way, catching her green eyes momentarily. Setting upon that brief lapse in his concentration, she asked, "What kind of artifact could do such a thing…call in wild animals, I mean?"

Shrugging expansively, Artie shook his head. "I have no idea. Nothing I can think of at this moment actually summons animals in general. There have been a few amulets claiming…_claiming _to summon a particular beast but most of those creatures were mythological. In other words, take your list and stay vigilant."

Myka's expression clearly said, "_Oh no! Please! Not the list!_"

Pete scrunched up his nose in agreement but opted to voice the obvious question instead. "Okay, so when do we leave?"

Artie spun in his chair to face them. He reached under his vest to his front shirt pocket and whipped out two envelopes. He handed them over. "Two round trip tickets to beautiful downtown Coeburn courtesy of our government. So get packing."


	3. Chapter 3

**oooooooooooooooooooo**

**Chapter 3**

**oooooooooooooooooooo **

On occasion, airline trips could be unbearable or frustrating and even uncomfortable to seasoned travelers like Agents Bering and Lattimer and this particular flight did indeed wear their patience thin. They met up with too many officious individuals who looked at their IDs and gave them grief anyway, if only to heap indignities on them for the sheer joy of doing so.

The flight was beyond packed, elbows and knees jutting everywhere one looked, kids crying, or worse, screaming, and the high heat at ground level produced thermals that jogged the plane violently a few times. As luck would have it--though Pete ended up convinced Luck had nothing to do with it--he wound up sitting behind a four year old with a staring problem. Every time he looked up, the kid was standing in the seat and looking back at him with eerily unblinking eyes.

Fortunately for Myka, she didn't bear the brunt of this attention and was content to just lean back and try to catch a quick nap. However, the more the kid glared at Pete, the more inclined he was to talk to her just so he could peel his eyes away from what was in front of him.

"Weird!! Is-thay id-kay is eird-way!" Pete muttered to Myka, only varying the complaints slightly over the course of the next hour.

"Ough-tay uk-lay," she sang to him at one point which only increased his overall frustration levels.

He tried turning 'evil eyes' on the kid but it didn't work. All he got was the same look thrown back in his face. He switched to insulting the kid directly in pig latin but only under his breath so the parents wouldn't hear. The boy only stared harder until Pete's eyes were beginning to tear and his brain felt like it would melt and run out his ears. He eventually switched over to "Wanna switch seats?" and variations thereof when he finally realized Myka was tuning him out.

Then, to add insult to injury, some guy dropped his carry on bag, which had been stowed in the overhead compartment, right on Pete's head as he was trying to exit the plane.

Once at the Coeburn terminal, their luggage, what little of it there was, ended up misplaced and took forever to show up so both Pete and Myka sat and stared at other patrons moving about the terminals on their own adventures. They tucked their carry-ons between their legs and shared a sandwich purchased at one of the shops while waiting on the slower-than-molasses staff to locate their belongings and call for them to pick it up.

"Finally!" Pete hollered with glee and bolted back to the baggage chute and conveyor belt to locate their stuff. "I'm am so done with this place. In fact, I'm seriously thinking of renting a car and driving back!"

Myka shrugged, clearly not as distressed by all this as her partner was. "Whatever you want to do," she said mildly, scooping up the strap to her own luggage and deftly swinging the small item so it ended up dangling by her side. She glanced at her watch. "Hotel first, police second?"

"Sounds fine with me, just as long as we get out of here _quickly_!" He bolted for the car rental counter, whizzed through the process of procuring a car in record time, nearly broke the guys fingers as he snatched the keys out of the startled man's hands, and darted outside to the lot.

Locating the car turned into an ordeal to rival that at the airport. The keyless remote didn't make their vehicle beep. They tried to spot the car by the number on the key ring but all the numbers were apparently on the rear bumper and all vehicles had been backed in. Squeezing between cars got Pete's slacks dusty looking about the knees and it took better than ten minutes to find the matching number to that on the key ring. The remote still didn't work to pop the locks.

"I swear, the trickster gods are out to get us today," he growled, partly in anger and partly in hopes those self same gods would tremble and run in fear. He slammed the key into the locks and was rewarded with a click. That was also the only sound he heard when he jammed the key into the ignition.

Several foul words were already bubbling up before that moment. And they erupted fast and furious when the second attempt to start the vehicle failed.

"Pete? Pete!!" Myka hollered, grabbing him by the shoulder to give him a rough shake. "Look, just sit here for moment. Relax, cool down. Give me the keys and I'll go back and get another car. Okay?" She sounded so calm, so reasonable, that for once, he was more than willing to dump all the responsibility on her.

She wasn't long in returning. Playfully, she jangled the keys before his face, and pointed back in the direction she came from. They transferred the gear, including the ever-present sealed container of neutralizer that had served as her carry-on, and she slid into the driver's seat.

Finding the hotel wasn't a problem--for which he was eternally grateful. But then he opened the door to the room and groaned. Artie had made these arrangements, apparently without checking the reviews. The place had an odd smell, there was a large dark stain beneath the air conditioner, which didn't work well, and the remote didn't work at all. Again. Only this time it was because someone had apparently stolen the batteries.

Myka's room was only slightly better. At least the remote worked. She was already sorting out her meager possessions and layering them neatly in the top drawer. Pete watched for a second and shrugged. He was a live-out-of-the-suitcase kind of guy and never bothered with motel furniture if he could help it.

The TV had just been turned on in Myka's room when there was a rattling buzz from somewhere inside her oversized purse. She quickly reached in and snagged the Farnsworth, opening it with obviously practiced ease. Artie's gray-tone image appeared in the circle, appearing somewhat distorted as if viewed through a fish-eye lens. He also looked slightly irritated.

"A bit late in checking in, aren't we?" he asked placidly, though his expression was looking anything but.

"A bit more worried than we should be, aren't we?" Pete chimed in, looking over Myka's shoulder so that their boss could see him.

Artie snorted derisively at that accusation. "Have you bothered to turn on the TV? Listen to the radio? I was getting worried that something had happened to you."

"We just turned it on. And in case you're wondering, we just got into the rooms a little while ago. And while it's the subject of discussion, I mean, really…coach travel, Rent-a-Hoopdie, and rooms at the Crapola Inn? Cheap much?"

Artie's bushy brows almost kissed. "Government cut-backs. You got a problem with it, take it up with Mrs. Frederick."

Pushing Pete aside, Myka wormed her way closer to the viewscreen until she knew her face was probably distorted on the other end. Her large green eyes grew harder as she tried to focus on what wasn't being said yet. "Artie! Why would you think something happened to us?"

"You weren't where you were supposed to be when you were supposed to be there," was the simple reply.

"That's nothing new," she explained reasonably. "Besides, you've never been one to watch the clock before."

This time, Artie was the one to sit back a bit. He sighed forcefully enough for them to hear it as a tinny gust of wind through the small Farnsworth speaker. "With MacPherson hiding who knows where, any time you are out there and out of contact is of…concern to me. But that's not exactly the problem." He leaned back farther in his chair and it became obvious to the pair that he was looking at his monitor. "In the hours since you left, two more bodies were reported to the authorities and several animal attack cases showed up at the area hospitals. Some of the latter could be ruled out as normal dog and cat bites, but witnesses and survivors have reported sightings of less commonplace animals."

"How 'less'?" Pete inquired, running his fingers through his hair, giving him a rumpled just-waking-up appearance.

"One lady swears she saw a bobcat. Another…" he paused as if it actually hurt him to say it, "a big horn ram". Plus…and I hate to even say it…a tiger."

"No way!" Pete breathed out in surprise.

"More zoo escapees?" inquired Myka leaning a bit further back from the screen. "I hate artifacts involving zoo animals, Artie. You know that!"

"Is that going to change how I hand out assignments?" Artie asked. He smiled slightly at the memory at what he thought of as 'Myka's mishap with the monkey'. She hadn't been happy then and clearly she wasn't happy now.

"Oh course not!" she snapped back, irritated with herself for letting on that the previous assignment still bothered her. She changed tracks abruptly. "So you think these animals are being freed from the zoos."

"Not necessarily. The tiger may have been someone's _pet_ for all we know. But it bears looking into when you have the time. If zoo administrators thought they were missing animals, the local police would already be investigating that lead, but I can't pick up any real activity on the scanner transmissions from that direction. Some phone calls were placed. Conversations ensued. Negative claims about freed animals. Of course that doesn't mean it isn't being covered up for some strange reason."

Pete began clicking through the stations looking for news programming. "What's the likelihood that whoever is freeing the critters would be able to corral them back into their pens by morning?"

"My bet is on 'slim to none'," Artie replied confidently. "Most wild animals don't like being caged up and will continue to roam given the chance. But to play devil's advocate, it's been demonstrated that some animals, if caged for most of their lives, will return to those cages simply because they view it as a safe environment."

"So I guess we make the rounds," Myka said, jotting down notes on a pad. "The zoo, police headquarters, victims and witnesses." Her pen paused over the last word. "Hey Artie?"

"Yeah?"

"Any reports about catching one these things?"

Artie's stared at her and slowly stroked his mustache. "Not yet, although I'm hoping that'll happen soon if only to help us understand where they come from and why they are on the move all of a sudden. Keep me posted. Bye." With that, he simply stretched out his middle finger and poked at the off button. His image flashed down to a tiny bright spot on the lens, then winked out.

"Typical," Pete murmured, throwing himself back onto her bed. Though he'd been eager to be on assignment rather than doing inventory work, his adrenalin levels were bottoming out after all the stress he'd endured just to get there. If truth be told, he was fervently wishing for a few minutes shut-eye.

Myka had other ideas. She poked him several times and finally coerced him back up into a sitting position. Together, they flitted back and forth through local news networks looking for the best place to start their investigation.


	4. Chapter 4

**oooooooooooooo**

**Chapter 4**

**oooooooooooooo **

After much debate Pete decided to tag along with Myka who had insisted that they start with witnesses. As the old story went, five people could view a single criminal act at the same moment and yet still come up with five different descriptions and interpretations of said crime scene.

That didn't deter Myka who just wanted to hear the stories and see if anything was out of place beyond the obvious 'wild-animal-roaming-the-streets', which was not a typical occurrence to begin with.

"Oh yeah, it was horrible," the pale and frail looking teenager named Brittany told the agents while sprawled on her mother's floral patterned sofa. She flicked shockingly St. Patty's day green hair out of her eyes and gave an appraising and approving look in Pete's direction. Myka, already seated next to the girl, leaned back. She was more than willing to let Pete work his magic on the girl though she suspected that her story had already been told in detail to every cop, reporter and friend for miles in any direction.

"We were, ya know, out on the street. Things were getting, um, a bit, uh, hot and I really wasn't paying attention, like he's a good kisser and I didn't care who saw that. It wasn't like we were doin' "it" in the street or anything. Just kissing, so I figured what the heck. It's not a really bad part of town. No reason to watch our backs, ya know?"

She paused long enough to take a sip of iced tea. The neon kelly-green hair tossed again. "And then I heard this noise. Brad turned to check it out and there it was." This time she stopped and a far away look flitted across her features. Her eyes unfocused as if she were there and seeing it again. "My God, it was awful. I mean, not, like, the wolf itself, I've seen photos, it was like just a wolf, but the look in its eyes. You could almost imagine…well, it seemed to be 'thinking', you know, and I could see the white teeth as it snarled at us. Even under the street lamps. Came on us slowly. Brad moved back from me..."

This time the expected tears did fall, slowly down one flawless satin cheek. Her enormous blue eyes clouded again with the memories.

"I-I panicked. Okay, I admit it, I freaked. Happy?" Brittany threw her face into her hands and a strangled sob escaped through her fingers.

"No one is condemning you," Myka said softly, almost tenderly, and she gave the girl's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She gave Pete a 'get in here and work some of your magic' look. Not missing the hint, he sat opposite the girl, parking himself right on the sturdy coffee table, and took one of her hands in his, clasping it comfortingly.

The warm contact seemed to work. Brittany looked through shimmering eyelashes and red-rimmed eyes at him. "I know that. No one is condemning me but I'm not liking myself much right now. You probably know I hopped in the car, locked the doors while that thing tore into Brad. I've never seen anything so vicious. So…bloody. Brad fought back but not for long. The wolf tore into his throat first chance it got. I was in the car, like, screaming my head off and it just turned to look at me like I was not important, and started to—"

She made some retching noises and Pete instinctively backed up but it wasn't far enough. Whatever she'd eaten previously ended up, more or less in his lap. He looked down, stunned, and looking a bit green around the gills himself.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Brittany bleated, horrified with herself. "Mom!!! A little help here."

The girl's mother had obviously been nearby, listening to the conversation, something Myka didn't fault her for. And in this case it was handy because she took in the scene in one glance and led Pete off to the bathroom to clean up as best he could.

"Brittany," Myka took over the questioning once the girl had calmed down a bit. "I know it's painful to think about this, but what happened after, um, the wolf finished what it was doing?"

The girl shrugged one bony shoulder. "Took off, I guess. Just ran back the way it came. I stayed in the car until the police finally showed. Maybe twenty minutes later. I guess one of the people living there called the cops because of all my screaming. If they hadn't, I'd probably have stayed in the car until daylight."

By the time Myka and Brittany had finished some of the less painful topics connected with the assault, Pete had rematerialized, cleaner but still wet from washing down his suit. They both thanked the girl and her mother and get back into the rental.

"You stink," Myka informed him with a wrinkling of her nose as they drove back across town. "Back to the room for a change. I think I saw a dry cleaner nearby where you can drop that off."

Nodding and flinching at the awful smell still lingering in the material, he replied, "Good idea."

A shower and quick change later, and they headed out to talk to the other witnesses and victims. It turned into an all day affair, though they ended up with a common denominator. All the animals weren't typical city dwellers and the attacks were sure and swift and usually for food. Only the bear victim turned up mauled simply because the beast liked it that way. Overturned garbage pails in the area indicated that it had probably fed on garbage prior to the attacks.

"Time to get some dinner. I'm famished." Pete held his hand out for the car keys. He'd let Myka do all the driving but he was growing weary of being just a passenger. She relinquished them willingly enough.

He got in, closed the door, belted in, and inserted the key in the ignition. It cranked once and died. He tried again. Nothing this time. Tried a third time. Less than nothing. No hums, no clicks, no dings of alarms. Just…silence. He sighed.

"Care to let me try?" Myka asked with a huge smile. "This car likes me better than you."

Heaving himself out of the seat with a frustrated groan, he went around to the passenger side and got in. Myka repeated the whole process and instantly the car roared to life with a contented and almost silent thrumming of a well-tuned engine.

"Damn!" Pete growled. His brows folded the skin between them into a deep crevasse. "How'd you do that? Let me guess. Somehow you rigged it so only you can start it, right?"

"Pete, you are sounding so paranoid. How could I possibly do that?"

He waved his hands in a vague gesture of confusion. "How the hell should I know! You're pretty sneaky when you want to be. Did Artie put you up to this? Payback for me bringing him back the Dieter's Delight platter instead of the Tacos with extra sour cream he ordered?"

"No. No paybacks."

"Claudia then. Of course, it had to be Claudia. She's certainly clever enough for this sort of thing."

"Pete. Pete. PETE! Forget it. It wasn't Claudia and it wasn't Artie. You were the first one to get to the other car when we landed and it wouldn't start for you then either." She smiled beatifically at him. "Try loving it, stroking the dash. Maybe it'll work better for you." She demonstrated, not looking like as much of a fool as he knew he would if he did the same thing.

"Alright, forget I said anything." He crossed his arms and slumped back in his seat.


	5. Chapter 5

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**Chapter 5**

**Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

After a hurried and inexpensive dinner, thanks to the imposed limits imposed upon them by Artie, they spread a map across the table and charted the cases reported. To their chagrin, there was no obvious pattern except that the occurrences weren't as numerous in the more affluent section of the city. But that wasn't conclusive because, even there, two attacks had been reported.

"The same wolf roaming?" Myka wondered aloud. "And bears have been known to cover a huge territory when they are looking for food."

"I don't know," Pete said with a quick shake of his head. He took a sip of his cooling coffee and a bite of apple pie. "Maybe." He held out his hand, snapped his fingers because his mouth was full and bulging from pie, and pointed at her purse. She gave him a disapproving stare but retrieved the Farnsworth.

Artie took his sweet time answering the summons. "What's up?" he asked without preamble. He looked disheveled and tired. Claudia passed behind him, placed both hands on his shoulders and leaned over him to wave "hi". Artie's eyes closed in that way parents had of tolerating a child's wearisome behavior. When he opened them again, he face grew concerned.

"What happened to you? You look awful."

"An unfortunate meeting with a lamp post a little while ago," Pete mumbled as he gingerly touched the purpling lump on his cheek.

"A lamp post?"

"Yeah, they still have them in this part of town. I wasn't watching where I was going…well, I _thought_ I was watching where I was going but obviously not cuz there it was. Jumped out at me, beat the crap out of me, and then laughed…loudly. Oh wait, I lied, that was Myka laughing at me. My bad." He turned a hostile glance in his partner's direction but she laughed it off loudly enough for Artie to hear. Artie flashed a brief smile but hid it quickly.

"Anything worthwhile to report?"

"Nothing much. You probably have heard it all already. We talked to the victims who survived and most of the witnesses. Same stuff as in the articles with some personal embellishment. On a positive note, we're hoping to patrol the area where the wolf was running around. Maybe get a chance to see it for ourselves. Maybe even take it down with the Tesla. Get animal control to take over from there. It may not answer any questions but at least one killer will be off the streets."

"Sounds reasonable. Any 'vibes' when you questioned people?"

"Nope. None. Problem is that we can track these attacks all we want, but so far there is no common denominator for artifact activity. Of the six reported attacks so far, four didn't make it. The other two were bitten, clawed or assaulted by smaller predatory animals or the ram. Neither of them seemed to have anything in common or to come in contact with anything unusual.

"Okay, you sound like you've got it all covered. Just watch yourselves, keep your eyes open, and don't take any unnecessary chances. The usual. Bye!"

"Ahhh, gotta love the boss's pep talks," Pete said around his last mouthful of pie. He pulled out some cash to pay for the meal. The waitress retrieved it and came back with their change and a receipt which Pete stuffed into his wallet for reimbursement. He left a tip and then stood up. The movement, as quick and assured as usual, caused him to bump the table, nearly overturned the half-filled glasses of water. Only Myka's quick hands saved them from spilling.

"I'm staying away from you," she joked once everything on the table was safe from breakage.

"Funny!" Pete muttered through gritted teeth. "Come on, let's get out of here and start patrolling. It'll be getting dark soon."

After a very long and very fruitless search, the agents retired to their rooms for the night. Sleep, when it finally arrived, was fitful and full of stalking beasts jumping on them from the shadows or attacking when they least expected it.

First thing the following morning, after about three hours of sleep, Pete was awakened by a cell phone call from Artie telling him to turn on the TV and then he promptly hung up. Nielsen had sounded stressed out and exhausted, irked and confused, all rolled up into one weird tone of voice.

Consequently, Pete wasted no time, manually switching it on and tuning in to the news programs. Myka joined him a short time later and both of them were informed by a pudgy and balding newscaster that three more animal attacks had been reported during the night. Two resulted in deaths leaving behind mauled and mutilated bodies in the middle of city streets. The third was reported to be by an eagle that had swooped down from a perch high above on an apartment building and whose talons had ripped into some guy's scalp. He'd successfully driven it off but ended up in the ER a half hour later, bloody and bewildered and swearing it was a bald eagle. The raptor, he'd told them, had not given up easily, giving the man an excellent view of his attacker.

Pulling out her laptop, Myka scrolled through the local online newspaper reports. A part of her felt the connection across the miles to Artie and the Warehouse. Doubtless, he was keying up similar articles, perhaps even the same one, and this thought gave her some comfort and a sense of connectedness to the place she'd been calling home for so many months.

When Pete finally came back from his breakfast run, he looked decidedly unhappy and coffee-stained.

"What happened to you?" she queried as she took in the sodden brown patch running from chest pocket to belt line.

"Skateboarder plowed into me as I was walking back," he growled at the memory. With visible effort, he calmed himself down. Normally, it was tough to ruffle his proverbial feathers but things hadn't been going his way lately and it both angered and perturbed him. "Next time I take the car."

"If it'll start for you," Myka replied with a grin.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Absolutely. Well, not the part where you get hurt of course, but you've had a really rotten streak of bad luck lately, haven't you?" She took a cup of coffee, black and sugarless, and sipped cautiously at it.

Their train of thought was interrupted by another breaking news story, this time about a trampling by some large mammal in the pre-dawn hours of the morning.

"So far, all at night," Myka murmured around the rim of her cup. "And this wasn't too far from here, practically right around the corner." Her green eyes swung in that general direction even though she didn't possess the ability or the artifact to see through walls.

Pete leaned back against the headboard and ate his Breakfast Croissant in three big bites. He downed some of the hashbrowns, popping them up and into his mouth like pieces of candy.

Ignoring the show, Myka continued to read the information on the screen until she heard a strangled gasp. As she hopped up, adrenalin spiraling outward in heated waves, she caught the startled look on Pete's face…that awful wide eyed, hands to the throat stare that indicated he'd gotten one of those pieces of food going where it didn't belong.

Fortunately for Pete, he had just enough air in his lungs to cough out the wandering piece of potato and that left Myka off the hook. She could do the Heimlich Maneuver if necessary but it would have required her to drag him off the bed first.

As they both caught their breaths, him from oxygen deprivation and her from lingering tendrils of fear, he finally said, "Maybe some shut eye will get events moving in a positive direction again. I'm thinking we can try again tonight."

"Good idea," she answered, nearly as wide-eyed as he'd been. She slowly withdrew from the room once she checked him over with her eyes yet again.


	6. Chapter 6

**ooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**Chapter 6 **

**ooooooooooooooooooooooo **

Not long after the amber street lights started illuminating the semi-deserted city streets, Pete and Myka resumed their hunt for the night-time denizens stalking the good citizens of Coeburn. Wisely, most of the nocturnally inclined humans had taken themselves off the streets and stayed behind locked doors for the evening. Many of them hoped the police would do their jobs better than what had been done to date.

However, at that moment, neither agent could summon up enough energy to condemn the local law enforcement precincts for their lack of success in capturing or killing the animals. The more Pete and Myka observed, the more they wondered if Artie wasn't correct after all. He certainly had a nose for these things. And they could never remember him being wrong. Clearly, weirdness was happening all around them but they were damned if they could figure out what was causing it.

As they got to one side street where it intersected a wider road, Pete heard a kind of grunting noise. He peered around the corner of the structure, straining his one visible eye as he tried to pick up any motion out of the ordinary. He looked back at Myka and shook his head.

She poked around his side and took a look for herself. "Nothing," she whispered, sounding frustrated.

"Yeeeahhh," came Pete's soft song-like reply, "Like you'd see something, I can't, right?" He paused and looked down at her, "Well, aside from seeing dead people, I mean."

"Don't remind me," she muttered, capturing his eyes with hers. "If these things hadn't been hurting people, I might have assumed they were visions."

Pete straightened up. "You know, it never even occurred to me that they might not be real because of the attacks, but can't some…well, ghosts or whatever…do physical damage even when they aren't real?"

"Not really my strong suit, Pete," she answered with a quick tilt of her head. "It's not like I was fascinated by those kinds of stories when I was a kid. Creeped me out if you want to know the truth. But to answer your question, I doubt these attacks are by something manifesting itself into a temporary corporeal state."

He grinned widely at her. "Damn! You're starting to sound like Artie."

Lightly punching his shoulder, she couldn't help but smile back.

That moment of bonding was abbreviated by another odd sound. Not the grunt of before but more of a heavy clickity clack of something solid on pavement. Nor was it as pronounced as the sound of horses hooves on cobblestones like in the old movies. But it did sound out of place in this section of town.

Once again, they edged around the corner. A van blocked part of their view. Pete side-stepped carefully out from the protective shadows of the building, withdrawing the Tesla from his pocket with a fluid motion. He quickly looked left, spotted nothing, and looked right again. Nothing down the street. A phantom, he wondered, taking another silent step to a point just beyond the van. And came face to face with 'it'.

Instinct made him holler in shock and surprise. The beast, hidden by the van, backed a step, its wooly head flew up, a snort escaping its broad nose. Then it lowered its two short curved horns in his direction, its eyes dark pools, reflecting the orange glow of the lights as if it were a creature fueled by hell fire itself.

It charged with a bellow, massive head down, powerful legs driving. Razor sharp reflexes drove Pete back around the van, and he aimed the Tesla as the creature thundered by. He pulled the trigger, bracing for the near-blinding flash of light that would take the beast down. Well, he hoped it would take down something that large at any rate. He never got to find out if the Tesla could do such a thing because nothing happened. He stared down at it, bewildered for a second, and fired again.

"I don't believe this!" he yelled, more at the gun than at his partner. Then he added, rather unnecessarily, "It's not working!"

"Can't be," she yelled back in equal volume. "I checked it. It's fine, recharged."

The beast whirled and glared at them with dumb mindless hatred. For no reason either agent could fathom, the aggressive stance fizzled away. It turned back to its original course and trotted down the street.

Yanking the Tesla out of Pete's hand, she ran down the street with him following on her heels. She got to what she thought was an effective distance and aimed the weapon. The anticipated arcs and streams of energy soared outward but only kissed the flanks of the running creature. It bellowed once, in pain or defiance, she couldn't tell which, and picked up the pace, easily outstripping the two humans trailing in its wake.

"Wow, that thing was faster than I thought it would be," Pete stated as they walked back to their previous observation point.

"I'd heard that was the case." Myka's chin dipped once in a nod.

"Heard or read?"

"Both, actually."

He vigorously combed his fingers through his short hair then rearranged it as an afterthought. "Figures!" He turned to peer into the darkness where his prey had just vanished. "Pity we couldn't take it down. I heard those things are good eatin'. Would have made better burgers than what our budget is allowing these days."

Myka frowned, not commenting on the joke. "Maybe we should call Artie and see what he thinks about your latest mishap." She tapped her purse with the Farnsworth in it.

He sighed heavily and glanced meaningfully at her. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to try solving this on my own. I think a call to Artie is fine _after_ we are both safely behind closed doors. If we're lucky we'll have more to report by then."

Myka rolled a shoulder in surrender and started walking.

Patrolling the streets later that evening yielded no further encounters. They did see a large raptor-like bird streak down and snag a patrolling cat off the sidewalk, but aside from the terrified yowling of the feline, there were no further sightings of anything out of the ordinary.

Foregoing breakfast, both agents retired to their rooms, exhausted and discouraged. While Myka showered, Pete played with the computer, scanning various sites until he grew drowsy. He'd meant to freshen up but found himself sprawled on the bed many hours later, with the metallic buzz of the Farnsworth rattling around in his ear.

"Hey," Artie's image said without preamble.

"Hey yourself," Pete moaned as he rolled onto his back, muscular arms reaching toward the ceiling with the device clasped between them. "I was gonna call you this morning."

"It's afternoon," Artie corrected him but then waved it off. "Never mind that. You have good news, I hope?" He didn't bother to hide his exuberance. "Mrs. Frederic has been on my case about getting you to wrap this up quickly."

"Why, are we needed back there?" Pete asked curiously.

Artie shook his head slowly. "No, but she has her reasons and I'm just passing along the suggestion. So, what _have_ you found?"

Myka, having heard the buzz of the communication device, stepped into his room and poked her head into the field of view. "Nothing, Artie. We have found _nothing_! No different than the last time. I don't even know where to begin. There's no leads on an artifact. Pete's getting no vibes, not even when he got attacked last night."

Eyes wide, expression both serious and caring, Artie didn't bother to hide the concern in his voice. "Attacked? Are you all right?"

Myka closed her eyes for a moment, wondering how she could ever have doubted that her boss didn't care about them and their well-being. She mentally replayed all the times they'd been in trouble and how he always sounded like he did at that very moment…fear for their safety over-riding any of his other worries.

"Natch…not even a close call," Pete bragged.

Artie's shoulders lowered as the tension drained from them. "So what did you see?"

"You're not going to believe this, Artie," Pete began.

"Oh, I can believe lots of things so go ahead and tell me."

"Buffalo. A buffalo charged me just as I walked around a van parked—"

"Did you say…buffalo?"

"Yeah, Artie, buffalo. Buff-a-lo."

Artie's eyebrow jumped.

"Hey, I know what I saw," Pete added defensively.

The eyebrow slid higher.

"I think I know what a buffalo looks like."

"Are you referring to a water buffalo?"

"No. Come on Artie, a big old buffalo, like in the westerns."

"Then you are probably referring to an American Bison, which, incidentally isn't technically a buffalo. There are many differences—"

"Artie, it was big, shaggy, had horns and was really really unhappy with me."

Rolling his eyes, Artie muttered, "Fine, whatever. I believe you. I have no reason not to, especially with all the other non-indigenous creatures materializing on city streets." He paused for a second, his eyes shifting direction, off to his left and followed by the sound of clacking keys. "In any case, I think it's safe to surmise an artifact is involved. Now the tough part will be narrowing down possibilities."

Myka's strained expression appeared next to Pete's. "And if you can't? Narrow it down, I mean?"

"We'll deal with it like we always do." He leaned away from them. "Assume it's something new and locate it. Bye."

After the image vanished with an almost audible pop, Myka stowed the Farnsworth. "Back out on the streets," she sighed. "You know, what we really need is a scanner so we can hear where the activity is and get there quick enough to at least be in the vicinity of the attack soon after it happens."

"Great idea!" Pete acknowledged, whipping out the "company" credit card. "RadioShack, here we come."


	7. Chapter 7

**ooooooooooooooooooo**

**Chapter 7**

**ooooooooooooooooooo**

Getting the handheld Bearcat scanner to function properly was a chore and a half. Pete played with it while Myka tried to read the ridiculously large manual. They tried downloading frequencies into the unit directly from their laptop but for some bizarre reason, it wouldn't 'stick'. Finally, they surrendered and brought it back to the store where an eighteen year old store associate programmed it for them. Blushing slightly out of embarrassment, Pete thanked her.

Once outside, he flicked it on and listened, searching the channels for communications chatter. It stopped on something that hissed loudly but gave no information.

Myka fished out the manual and tried to figure out how to block that frequency. She did what it said and nothing happened. She sighed. Pete followed the instructions and it died altogether. Myka sighed louder, yanking it out of his hands.

Together, they returned to the store. The teen gave them an evil and totally suspicious glare as if to accuse them of doing this on purpose or as part of a prank. But she wanted to keep her job so she plastered a patient smile on her face and reprogrammed it. Then as a bonus, she instructed them on how to delete frequencies after Myka asked for the additional information.

Scanner up and running, Myka slipped it into her oversized purse, leaving it open so she could catch bits and pieces of information. She pulled the Farnsworth out and gave it to Pete to carry. That done, they went and had dinner and prepared for their evening's hunt.

Midnight found both agents peering around the corner of an ancient building, ears straining for the sounds of animal activity, eyes once more alert for unexpected movement. Their tension was so palpable it practically formed an invisible but solid bubble around them.

"Greetings!" a jovial voice knifed through the stillness all around them.

Pete wheeled and pressed against the wall, more because of instinct than any other reason. Myka had jumped about two feet off the ground. She hadn't quite managed to suppress an alarmed cry and it echoed sharply down the alley. Both of their right hands were reaching for weapons. And then the short, rounded figure who'd spoken materialized out of the darkness into the glow of the amber street lights.

"Artie! What are you doing here?" Myka asked incredulously. If truth be told, she was still spooked by his sudden appearance and it sounded in the quaver of her voice. "You're getting to be as bad as Mrs. Frederic."

As she spoke, she resisted the impulse to search for a tracking device on her person. Artie had this knack for finding them even when he had no specific idea of where they were. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd put this unusual talent into practice. She shivered slightly and collected herself, tamping down the urge to berate him for sneaking up on them.

"Mrs. Frederic felt that you could use an extra pair of hands to bring this to a quick conclusion and…" he paused to chuckle softly, "Claudia was driving me crazy. She's been like the energizer bunny on crack and I _really_ needed to get out of the Warehouse for a bit. So when Mrs. Frederic suggested it, I jumped at the chance."

Artie gave them the pleading, puppy dog eyes which, oddly enough worked better on Pete than on Myka.

"Okay, I guess we could cover more of the city streets this way. You have a rental, I assume?"

"Next block over," he informed them, pointing back through the alley.

"Work fine for you?"

"Yeah, sure, why?"

"Oh nothing. Just wondering."

At that moment, the scanner crackled to life. Artie wheeled quickly for a guy of his age and generous proportions. He scanned the street before them as if expecting a cop car to be right there, and then at Myka who shrugged with her hands and retrieved the device.

"You-know-who isn't going to be happy about that purchase…unless you already owned it. _Please_ tell me you already owned it," Artie pleaded in a deep coercive voice.

"What is it with the money issues lately," Pete grumbled.

"Not 'lately'," Artie supplied immediately. "Always. Always boils down to money in the end. Doing what we do isn't cheap and funding is good but we have to answer for every penny, much as it irks me deal with that end of it."

"I thought you just said Mrs. Fred—"

"She deals with the complaints from…higher up…and then I get to deal with it in the trenches. Believe me, it irritates me as much as it does you, but that's life." He let the subject drop abruptly and reached for the scanner. As if his touch coaxed it to life, the thing spoke in a woman's voice, in a pattern known to dispatchers everywhere, the location and nature of the call and the units that were requested to respond. A few officers responded to her summons. Animal Control, also on constant standby in the last week, notified them he was heading out. Mobilized by the summons, the three secret service agents dashed toward Myka's vehicle, which had been closer than Artie's, and proceeded to the location of the attack.

Once they found the right place, they sidled up to the assembled officers as unobtrusively as possible. Animal control was already there and armed with a tranquilizer rifle. The police were carrying an assortment of handguns with the Glock 9mm being the most prevalent. It would have taken down a man and perhaps a wolf easily enough but Myka found herself wondering if it was enough fire power for a bear.

The officers fanned out, in pairs, to troll the streets for anything that didn't 'belong'. A few street people and drunks were hurriedly carted into a van and brought to a shelter despite their vociferous protests.

Suddenly a shrill unearthly scream rent the air followed by a horrific gasping gurgle. "That was close!" one of the officers commented as he broke into a run. The other uniformed cops pursued him at a flat out run.

On their tail were Pete and Myka. Trailing behind them a short distance was Artie. The latter put on a sudden huffing burst of speed, trench coat billowing out as he ran. He caught up to them just in time to see a gaping maw filled with enormous teeth go airborne over two cringing officers. As one, they all turned to watch their attacker flee down the street, its black striped body sinuously contracting and stretching as it ran across the pavement.

Everyone wheeled, putting Artie somewhat in the lead as they bore down on the fleeing beast which turned a corner smoothly, disappearing from sight.

In no time at all, Pete outpaced everyone and was just at the intersection when he heard a piercing cry echoing along the narrow street. It was followed by a gun shot and chatter on the radio, which suddenly got cut off.

Guns drawn, the three agents and several officers plunged around the corner in time to see the Siberian tiger lunge for a uniformed policeman. Dagger-like teeth scythed into the man's upper arm and yanked. His scream, borne of terror and pain. ripped through the pursuers. With a wild twist of its massive head, the tiger tore the arm clean out of its shoulder socket and with the bloody appendage still dangling between its jaws, it glared balefully back at them. Then it was off with a snarl and chest-deep growl.

Pete watched as several of the officers near him took aim. Shots rang out, the sound multiplied by the tight confines of the surrounding buildings. An agonizing howl, clearly not human, issued from the fleeing animal but it kept moving.

Just as Pete and Myka were about to go after it, Artie called out from behind them, "Wait, wait. Let them do their job."

"I want to be there when they catch it," Pete sounded like a kid excited by his first trip to the zoo.

"No, no, no. Let them do their job," he repeated with more emphasis, then added. "I don't want them knowing why we are here just yet. It's the artifact we want, not the animals themselves."

"So you don't want to see it after they catch it?" Myka asked, surprised.

Artie pushed his glasses up a bit higher on his nose and squinted in the general direction of the trouble. A plain clothes detective had knelt down beside his fallen comrade and was issuing commands to bring an ambulance 'ASAP' over his hand-held radio.

"I would like to see it, yes. I just think it's a good idea not to step on any toes in the process, alright? If they get upset with us for sticking our noses in where they don't think they belong, they may make pursuit of the real problem more difficult."

Pete threw his hands up in surrender. "Fine, have it your way. So now that they are chasing the thing, why don't we just mosey along after them?. See what pans out from a distance."

"I agree with Pete," added Myka, nodding for additional effect. "I'm curious to see it myself."

With a curt wave of his right hand, Artie gestured for them to proceed. Flashlights out, they scanned the point of attack, finding blood swelling outward from the downed man. His companion was encouraging him to hold on while he tried to staunch the flow of life-giving fluid. In the harsh white light his face was pallid, skin drawn taut over the bones of his face. All three agents had seen death often enough to know that the poor guy probably wasn't going to get to the hospital on time even though there was a swelling of siren songs approaching.

Further down they found more blood, small puddles of it, more or less evenly spaced. 

Glancing at Myka, Pete queried, "From the arm?"

Artie looked around him and shined the light into the distance. Under the amber glow lights the small round pools of blood looked like black tar but under the flashlight bulbs there were crimson and still fresh, stark against the grayish street surface.

"No, not from the arm. See? Paw prints. The thing is bleeding. One of the shots, maybe more, must've hit its mark." Saying that, Artie began a slow but steady jog along the path left by their prey.

The tiger hadn't run more than a few blocks. They realized this when they saw a group of uniformed cops hovering around something just at the entrance to an alley. They were either muttering in consternation or arguing angrily.

"You idiot!!" one of them shouted harshly.

The answer was just as angry although there was a heavy dose of confusion layered into it. "Hey, I didn't do this. I'm telling you I hit the tiger. I saw it stagger. We all saw the trail of blood. It led to right here."

"Yeah, well I'd way you either have a serious need to get glasses or your shot was misplaced."

Consumed by curiosity, the three Secret Service agents boldly walked through the small crowd and peered between the two men leaning over the body.

"Oh my God!" Myka murmured in shock as she looked down on the still figure. The body lying there was definitely not that of a tiger, Siberian or otherwise. Instead it was of a Caucasian male, with an approximate age of somewhere between twenty and thirty years old. He was on his side, one arm thrown up over his face.

"I'd say somebody screwed up," added Pete in a husky whisper, noting the bullet holes piercing the body, both entry wounds in the upper back, one exit wound in the center of his left pectoral. It wasn't enough to kill the man instantly but obviously it hadn't taken long.

One of the cops rounded on Lattimer, a fierce light in his eyes. "Who the hell are you? And what are you doing messing with my crime scene." He raised a hand in warning. "Don't insult me by saying you just got here. I saw you walking the streets earlier. So what's your interest in this?" He covered all of three of them with his eyes.

Since there was no longer any hope of avoiding close scrutiny, Artie took that moment to flash his ID and badge. "Secret Service actually. Agent Nielsen, that's me. My associates Agents Bering and Lattimer."

Myka and Pete reached for their identification as well. The officer gave it a more than a cursory glance and returned the badge cases with a suspicious glare.

"Right. So why are you involved? No one informed me of it."

Stroking his lower lip in thought, Artie swung his eyes from the carcass to the officer. His face turned impassive, his voice professional. "That's because we were brought to Coeburn for another matter. It just happened that we learned about your problem with the animal attacks and we just got curious to know what was going on. Nothing more, nothing less. These are your cases, your jurisdiction. We have no desire to intrude or get in your way."

This seemed to mollify the man. His shoulders visibly lowered, his features relaxed. "Well, assuming that's true, you wouldn't mind moving on. I really can't talk about this." He gestured at the body then looked at Artie. "This is going to cost me more hours than I'd care to count in paperwork not to mention all the debriefings by internal affairs." He exhaled forcefully as if the ordeal facing him was causing him an equal amount of physical pain as well.

"Would you mind if we give the body a quick once-over?" Artie queried as he put both hands inside his pockets. "I'm not going to touch the corpse. I promise. I'll just be a second."

The cop wasn't exactly buying the curious routine. "What are you _really_ after?"

Artie's voice turned mild. "Just an ID. We were supposed to meet with someone tonight for a…uh…transfer of sensitive information and I just wanted to make sure your guy doesn't fit the description."

Once more the officer's eyes bored through Artie but the secret service agent was like an impenetrable rock. He said nothing, did nothing…just waited.

"Fine. Have your look. Perkins, do me a favor. Get scene investigations down here right away for some photos of the body. Once that's done, you may turn him onto his back and let these folks have a quick look. They are not to touch anything. Understand?"

That last question was directed as much toward the three agents as it was toward Perkins. Pete, Myka and Artie withdrew a short distance and leaned back against a wall while waiting for their opportunity to view the victim. Pete stood, shifting from one foot to the other. Myka leaned back against a brick wall, crossed her arms and legs and generally made herself look comfortable. The first thing Artie did was find a nice comfortable step to park himself on. It was hard and it was cool but he was grateful for the opportunity to rest and think.


	8. Chapter 8

**ooooooooooooooo**

**Chapter 8**

**oooooooooooooo **

Checking the body was over and done with far quicker than Pete and Myka assumed it would be. They rolled the corpse so that all anterior aspects were visible. Artie had signaled his inspection was over before the other two agents had taken a really good look. That surprised Myka because she knew that Artie prized her observation skills. Apparently he knew what he was looking for and had found it right away.

"We're done here," he informed the officer in charge of the scene. "Thanks for being so helpful."

"This your guy?" the man asked mildly.

"Nope. Unfortunately. Well, let me amend that. Fortunately that wasn't him because it means he's hopefully still alive and able to give us the intel we need." He waved a farewell to the man, grabbed both Pete and Myka's forearms and steered them away from the murder scene.

Once out of earshot, Pete leaned closer to his superior. "So, what were you really looking for. Can you tell us _now_?"

"No, but I think I'm on the right track," was all the answer he got. Artie stopped in the street, and turned to face them both. "I'm heading back to the car for a second. I'll be right back."

"What's so important back there?" Myka queried with more than a mild hint of curiosity.

"My laptop—no, no, a regular one. Wi-Fi capable. Won't take me long, I promise."

"You sure that's wise?" Pete whispered softly, almost pleadingly. "My vibes have been bouncing around in my gut like a rubber ball this evening. I think the old adage about strength in numbers is true right now."

Artie tilted his head and looked up at Lattimer. "Look, if the two of you decided to split up out of necessity—which wouldn't be particularly advisable by the way—I wouldn't worry about you…_too_ much. You're quite capable of handling adversity on your own. Me? I've been alone, more or less, on more retrievals than I can count. Trust me, I can take care of myself, okay?" He finished his pep talk with a light pat to Pete's upper arm. "I'll be back in a jiffy."

He disappeared down an alley, the sounds of boot heels clicking on pavement the only sign he was nearby. Eventually, even that ceased.

"So now we wait!" Myka muttered in frustration and sank back against the cool brick of an apartment building.

"Now we wait," Pete agreed, crossing his arms across his muscular chest, trying to appear as if he were resting when in reality every nerve in his body was singing from the resonant song of his vibes.

His head kept swiveling up and down the street. His stomach muscles clenched and loosened with each odd night sound. He glanced at his watch three times and gave Myka a meaningful look.

As if the pain in his gut wasn't bad enough, an unearthly, shrill scream pierced the air above them. He cringed, wondering how a bird could make such a hideous sound or how it could attain such volume. He heard people in the apartment behind him hollering to each other in alarm. The windows had rattled. The wind kicked up, buffeting them so hard they had to shield their eyes from all the street debris flying around.

Then it landed. Both agents froze in stark raving terror, plastered to the wall as if the edifice was able to save or hide them. The thing looked at them with glittering baleful eyes. Myka was the first to turn fear into action. While her first thought was to reach for the Tesla, instinct told her it would be useless against this type of predator. She hauled out the Farnsworth instead and pushed the red button hard enough to have broken it if it wasn't so durable.

In seconds, Artie's face appeared, shadowed but recognizable under the streetlights. "I know, I know, I'm a bit slow but I prom—"

The night was torn asunder by another ear shattering shriek from the beast.

Clearly, Artie was fighting for control of both his thoughts and his voice because his tone was more curious than alarmed even as the play of jaw muscles beneath skin told the real truth. "Uh, Pete? What the hell was _that_?!"

Pete's eyes weren't on the Farnsworth at all. Rather they were focused over it. "Dragon, Artie."

Artie face withdrew suddenly then plunged back into view. "What? Did you—did you say "dragon"?" He glanced skyward, clearly uneasy at the thought. "What specifically do you mean by 'dragon'?"

The answer wasn't long in coming. "Oh the usual kind. You know, wings, tail, spines, scales. Steaming snout. That sort of thing."

"Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"Run!"

Lattimer and Bering didn't need further encouragement. They bolted down the nearest alley, tripping over garbage cans, bumping into dumpsters, all the while glancing over their shoulders. The beast had leapt to the entrance of the alley but was clearly too big to fit. It trumpeted its frustration, and stalked off down the street, heavy legs and massive claws thumping the pavement.

After a lengthy series of twists and turns in and out of streets and alleys, leaving them thoroughly disoriented, the Farnsworth buzzed again. For a couple of moments, neither of them could answer it because they were both gasping too hard to speak. Finally, wind recovered, Myka pulled the communication device open.

"You clear?" Artie asked.

The first thing Myka noted was that Artie's eyes were completely rimmed in white although she couldn't tell if it was from fear for them or fear for himself.

Pete elected to answer the question. "For now, unless it goes airborne."

"Stay close to the walls and alleys or anything else you can use as a shield. " They saw his eyes shifted upward. "Uh-oh!" he breathed, voice little more than a whisper.

"Uh-oh? You see it?"

Artie didn't look at them. The view on the screen was little more than a close up of throat and chin whiskers. "In a manner of speaking."

"What's that mean? Are you eyeballing our dragon or not?"

"Um, did yours have two legs or…four?"

Frowning Pete thought about it. "You know, we were a bit too busy running away to pay that much attention."

"Four, Artie. Plus the wings," Myka said leaning in close until nothing but her eyes and nose were visible. "I'm sure of it."

Artie's voice, sounding horrified when it finally issued from a dry throat, said, ""Nope, wrong dragon. Gotta go. Bye!" This was followed by the sounds of panicked running and strangled gasping before the Farnsworth cut out.

"Oh! My! God!" Myka blurted out as she turned to face her partner. Her features were painfully pinched, distraught with worry for their boss and for their predicament. "How the hell are we supposed to kill a dragon. I mean, I doubt the Tesla will work and" she made a drawn out shhh noise, "you can bet bullets won't get through those scales."

"Wasn't there some way to kill them? In the legends and books I mean?"

"You have a sword? Preferably a magical sword imbued with the power of the gods?"

"Not at the moment." Pete admitted with his usual aplomb when facing disaster.

"Well, neither do I!" She cringed behind a dumpster, her head constantly craning left, right and up. Then she brightened. "The books say they do have a weak spot. The throat, sometimes the belly, usually between the scales."

Pete sank down beside her, scrubbing his face with hands that were far from clean. Sweat was streaming down his back despite the night chill and he suspected the dragon was going to be able to track them by scent alone pretty soon. "Oh right. Like we will get close enough to do any of those. To make it worse, that thing was covering up its weak spots. What we really need is a cannon…or two…or three. Heck, I'd settle for a couple of bazookas."

From somewhere nearby, there came the sound of running feet and a short squat figure dashed past them, coat fanning out behind him.

"Artie!" Pete and Myka both called out. The thumping on asphalt stopped after a few faltering steps.

"Pete, Myka?" Nielsen called out in a stage whisper.

"Down here, man!"

"Oh God!" Artie hollered as he ducked into the alley, the orange street lights throwing him into silhouette. A huge figure, short wings splitting the air with a soft whooshing sound, flew past at the height of a tall man. Its long barbed tail trailed behind it. Clearly, as Artie had suggested during their last strained conversation, it wasn't their dragon. It was his. And it was also more persistent than the other one.

"We can't stay here," Artie hurriedly explained to them. "This one might be able to squeeze itself in between the buildings."

To add validity to his statement, the beast did exactly that. Rearing up on its enormous pair of hind legs, wings tucked in, the dragon wedged itself into the narrow space, its scales hissing across the bricks. Its progress was slow but steady. Razor sharp teeth snapped at them in anticipation of its next meal.

"Time to go," Myka agreed wholeheartedly with him. She raced back to the end of the street where they'd first entered the alley and cautiously glanced out to the street then up to the roof tops. Their dragon, at least to all appearances, had decided to go hunting elsewhere. She waved at them and stated, "All clear."

Artie's dragon had gotten itself to the half way point and was trumpeting its anger at a dumpster effectively blocking its way. The short wings were of no use in such close confines. It pushed the first dumpster forward but it clanged against another one and then a third. With each successive contact, the beast had to struggle harder. That gave all three agents the opportunity to be long gone before it emerged winded, enraged and unbelievably hungry.


	9. Chapter 9

**oooooooooooooooo**

**Chapter 9**

**oooooooooooooooo **

Once they felt they were safe, Myka rounded on Artie. "Artie, out with it. I really think it's time you tell us what you think is going on. Is this like some book that let's imaginary animals walk through, sort of like the reverse of the Narnia stories?"

Artie shocked her by placing both hands on her shoulders and squeezing them reassuringly. "It not like I don't want to tell you. At the moment I only have suspicions. We can't act until we have more facts." He made a cursory scan of the sky before giving her body a gentle shake. "I just need a bit more information before I voice my theories. As soon as I'm sure, you'll be the first to know. Okay?" He released his hold on her.

Mollified, Myka responded with a quick dip of her chin.

Together, they entered an all-night fast food joint, ordered a light repast and drinks then settled into a booth in a corner, away from the employees' ears and from windows in case they got any rude surprises from outside.

"So what are you proposing we do?" queried Myka.

"Let me think about this a second." He took a long and somewhat noisy drink of the sweet tea. "Ideally, I'm hoping the authorities will catch one of the animals, cage it for the evening, and check it out when it's no longer a threat. But I'm suspecting manpower is spread pretty thin right now. It'll be a 'right time, right place' kind of situation.

"Like the 'situation' that almost ate us?" Pete inquired, biting down hard on a fry.

Artie sighed around a mouthful of his burger. "All of these 'situations' present a danger. Dragons are just the meanest and biggest of the lot. Your run-in with the bison is a perfect example."

Pete snorted. "Not really. It tried to gore me and trample me but at least it didn't try to eat me!"

A quick grin flashed across Artie's lips. "Be grateful for small favors."

"Yeah, right!" Pete responded sarcastically.

Once back out on the street, they took up the patrol again, only this time they were far more wary and vigilant. Pete's mind was closely tuned to the sensations in the pit of his stomach, hoping they'd give him warnings about advancing danger.

The answer to Artie's unspoken hypothesis presented itself suddenly with a keening cry, the rustle of enormous wings and the ripping of needle sharp talons. Pete yowled as bloody furrows were laid down across his scalp. He felt a warm trickle of something slide around his ear and down his neck. He cursed loudly. Reflexively, his hand flew to the warmth and came away dark. He had no doubt it was his own blood and that fueled his anger.

Artie and Myka, who had both crouched as soon as the attack had begun, were struggling to keep their attacker in view. Unaware of Pete's injury, they ignored him.

As the eagle began disappearing into the darkness, Pete pulled his Tesla. He didn't want it dead, at least not yet. First he planned on bringing it down so he could pluck it bald like a Thanksgiving turkey, one feather at a time.

Scalp burning, crimson rivers still streaming under his collar, he aimed the Tesla at the sky. "Here birdie, birdie, birdie," he sang in falsetto, sounding like Seann William Scott in the movie "Evolution".

Myka, not a huge movie fan, didn't get the reference, but Artie did. He gave Pete an "Oh please" look but said nothing. Seeing the Tesla materialize, he patted his coat pocket and froze. Somewhere, out on a city street lay his Tesla, dumped no doubt as he ran from the dragon. Fortunately, he still had his Sig Sauer .40 caliber holstered against his waist but he didn't draw it. If his suspicions were correct, he wanted the eagle down, not dead.

As if responding to the challenge, there was a high pitched cry and the huge wingspan of the bald eagle materialized into the lights. Pete calmly aimed and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

"Oh no, not again!" Lattimer scowled at the gun but only for a second. He was forced to duck the talons. Myka and Artie mimicked him, their knees hitting the pavement. As Myka drew her semi-automatic, Artie rose and snatched the Tesla out of Pete's hand. He gave it a forceful dose of Claudia's brand of percussive maintenance and fired just as the raptor swooping down, head height, for another attack.

Lightning tendrils flew straight out, enveloping the bird. It screeched once, tried to turn, and lost consciousness. To everyone's dismay, the magnificent symbol of their country had pivoted just enough to plummet head first into a wall. It was followed by the sound of rustling feathers and the muted breaking of fragile bones.

"No, no!" Artie cried. _It wasn't supposed to happen that way_, he berated himself. He ran toward the downed raptor, kneeling slowly by the body which still twitched slightly.

The ubiquitous purple gloves appeared on Artie's hands as if by magic. He hesitantly stretched his fingers toward the downed creature whose trembling had finally ceased. Just as he was about to connect with it, the body writhed. It seemed to bubble and expand, spreading outward before their very eyes. The feathers shrank, withdrawing into the pale flesh beneath. The body elongated, wings narrowing and reaching out toward Nielsen who reacted with a hoarse yell. He fell over backward, instantly crab walking away from the morphing creature. Both agents with him reacted in much the same way, stepping back quickly.

As Artie's rump finally landed on the sidewalk, Pete grabbed a fistful of his coat and hauled him to his feet. Neither man took their eyes off the body during its transformation. Myka, eyes rounding in shock, grabbed Artie's sleeve.

"What's happening?" she asked the obvious question although they could quite clearly see it for themselves.

"Almost over," Artie replied, sounding more knowledgeable than he should have. "Damn! I'd hoped—" His lips pressed into a tense line but he said nothing else.

"Hoped what, Artie?" Myka hissed, definitely upset at what she was seeing.

"Hoped it would be something other than _this_." He gestured weakly to what was left behind by the transformation. In what seemed like slow motion, he knelt one more by the body and felt for a pulse. His head and shoulders visibly slumped. "It's my fault," his rasping voice stated after a few moments. He closed the eyes of the youth lying there at his feet. "I should have been more careful."

Bending over, Pete gripped Artie's shoulder and held on. "Man, there was no way you could have avoided this. The bird was dive bombing us. Look at how cut up I am. No one would blame you."

Instead of answering, Artie parked his behind on the cement, sitting Indian style, gazing at the still body of the teenager. Given the poor lighting, it was hard to be specific about his hair color, some dark shade of blonde perhaps. Light eyes. A small dark mole on his neck just below the chiseled jaw line. All in all it was a handsome face, turned innocent in death.

"I'm still not sure what is going on here aside from the obvious," Myka knelt down next to him.

"Look at his body."

It was hard not to, Myka thought. The physique of the kid was muscular, compact, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted. The kind of kid that would probably make the girls daydream in whatever local high school was nearby. He appeared to be about eighteen years old, which was old enough to go out and get tattoos. He had several of them already. Artie pointed to the one on his upper pectoral area. It was of an eagle in flight. Myka stared wordlessly. Her skin crawled.

"Are you beginning to understand now? The dead man we found first had a tiger tattoo on his arm. It looked fresh, shiny from Bacitracin, just starting to heal. This…young man…has the eagle, also very recently done." He turned slightly to look her full in the eyes. "The big picture is that we were wrong about an artifact for summoning animals. There were no animals…technically. We need to look for an artifact that is turning people into the animals…or mythical creatures…they have tattooed on their bodies."

He stood up with a loud groan, part muscle stiffness and part grief. He pulled out a cell phone and called 9-1-1, reporting the body to the authorities. When the police did show up, it was only one car and the same officer who had spoken to them earlier.

"You three again" he muttered wearily. He glanced at Pete for a second and barked. "What the hell got to you?"

"Eagle," replied Lattimer, gingerly touching his scalp where the scratches still burned.

"Somehow you have a knack for running into trouble, don't you? Speaking of which, why am I not surprised by you being here?"

In answer, Artie simply turned sideways and pointed at the body.

The cop leaned in for a better look then fixed Nielsen with an aggressive and suspicious stare. "So how do you explain this one?"

Artie extended his fingers in lieu of a shrug. "I can't. We found him like this. I can tell you his neck is broken. From the irregular lumps in the limbs, probably broken bones there also."

"Uh-huh. Anything to do with your case?" He pulled out a pad and was jotting down notes.

"No. None. But I feel it fair to warn you that there are some…unusual…creatures roaming the streets tonight and you'd do well to keep your eyes open and on the skies."

"Uh-huh," the guy repeated, not hiding his skepticism. "Care to elaborate?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I did. This is something you'll definitely have to see for yourself. But my advice is get heavily armed and don't stay out in the open for too long."

The cop snorted. "Right. You sound like you're expecting Godzilla to come marching down the streets."

"Close enough," Artie muttered so softly the man didn't really catch it.

"What was that?"

"Um…nothing. Nothing." He waved the monster movie scenario into oblivion. "Oh hey, yeah, I forgot. How is your wild game hunt progressing? Finally catch anything?

The officer froze. Clearly he was debating on whether or not to divulge any information but figured it wouldn't matter. "We did manage to catch a wolf. Tranq-ed it. Nasty bugger. Kept trying to rip off any appendage that got too close. We caged it at the SPCA." He smiled then and looked Artie full in the eye. "Then some bad-ass butt-neked idiot decided to set it free, which he did successfully by the way, damn him. And then he got accidentally locked in the cage. Later, when we went in there to look at the wolf, all we found was him, out cold."

"Guy have any distinguishing marks, tattoos, that sort of thing?"

"Lots of tats. The guy was an ex-con."

"Any of them…recent?"

"What does it matter?"

"Just curious.

Pete caught Artie's eye and waggled his eyebrows. He was definitely seeing the pattern. Artie had been right.

The cop ran his own mental recorder, his eyes rolling skyward as he did so. "Well, Yeah, I guess. He did have a recent wolf tat. But between you and me, I thought he went after the wolf because he was some weird animal activist who flipped out, decided to go streaking--" He stopped abruptly and glanced down at the naked corpse of the teen. "Third one," he observed introspectively. "Now that I think about it, the first guy had no clothes either." He looked back at Artie. "This whole thing wouldn't be cult related, would it?"

In reply, Artie merely shook his head. Rather than give the cop an opportunity to question him further, he turned to Pete and Myka and gave a subtle gesture for them to withdraw from the crime scene, which they all did as expeditiously as possible. Artie felt the guy's eyes boring like lasers into his back but he refused to look back until they had rounded a corner. Then he did give in to the impulse if only to make sure they weren't followed.

As a single entity, the trio walked abreast of each other toward the direction of their vehicle. Pete and Myka kept their mouth shut, lost in their own thoughts, reserving questions for when they returned to the motel. As soon as they crossed the threshold, however, they bombarded him with several queries.

Artie put up both hands, palms out. "Wait. Wait. All I did was guess right about this. That's it. Only thing I can say with any assurance is that it is somehow connected to the tattoos."

"The tattoo gun maybe?' Myka inquired. She rubbed the skin between her brows as it was aching.

"My thoughts exactly. Probably find someone in this town is using something old, handed down through the family. Finding it should be easy. Flash the badges, claim we are inspecting for 'whatever' we think is reasonable, let them show us the machine, and confiscate it after the shop closes."

"Coeburn is a big city. How many tattoo parlors are there?" Pete asked already eyeing the laptop.

Artie's response was to open it and start googling the information. "Eight of them," he answered after thirty seconds. "Spaced more or less evenly about the city, as if they were trying to avoid treading on each other's territories, though I'm fairly sure it wasn't intentional."

"Divide and conquer?" Myka asked with a hint of a smile.

Artie returned it. "Good idea. But for now, I think we've all earned some sleep." He gave Pete the once over. "_After_ we clean out that head wound."


	10. Chapter 10

ooooooooooooooo

**Chapter 10**

ooooooooooooooo

None of them got any restorative sleep. Pete's head wound was burning almost continuously despite being cleaned out. The talons had not gone all that deep and Myka doubted the furrows needed stitches, but he was still aware of it. He finally realized he had dozed when he sat up in bed, panting, half remembered visions still dancing before his eyes.

Meanwhile, dragons of horrific proportions and slashing teeth were charging or chasing Myka and Artie, propelling them both into screaming, sweating wakefulness. Although sleep didn't beckon to Myka any more that night, Artie managed to drift back to sleep. Almost immediately his tormented mind focused on the circumstances surrounding the death of the teen. He kept seeing the eagle crunching against the wall, over and over, the body changing yet again into that of a human. Grief rolled over him with each successive replay until he woke up at the sound of his own voice crying out. Mercifully, Pete intuited what was going on and remained silent.

When they all met for an early lunch, bleary-eyed and disheveled, there was no discussion about nightmares; however, the haunted look in their eyes still told the story.

They sat in relative silence, reading their menus, and sticking to sandwiches, burgers or in Myka's case, a veggie wrap. The conversation still hadn't picked up much, as if talking about mundane things was emotionally stabilizing.

It was Myka who finally got down to business. "What's the course of action for today? Check out tattoo shops first?"

"That seems to be the best course of action," Artie answered after taking a rather long gulp of his coffee. "Obviously our answer lies in that direction. And to be honest, I just want…to get this over and done with."

Myka finished her wrap, eating it more slowly and with impeccable table manners. Once she'd fully chewed and swallowed the last morsel, she quickly shook her long wavey hair out of her eyes and looked at her superior. Pain was etched on her features. She didn't want to bring it up, but knew it had to be asked. "What happens once we neutralize the tattoo machine. Will everyone go back to normal—"

"One would hope," Artie answered, not waiting for her to finish.

"—or are they going to keep transforming every night?" she finished, her voice slightly roughened by such a horrible though.

A long heavy sigh escaped through pursed lips and Artie finally said. "Many of the artifacts lose their properties once neutralized. I suspect that will be the case here also. Find the tattoo machine, bag or dunk it, and that should be the end of everyone's troubles." Despite the bright sunlight causing him to squint, he gazed out the front window of the café. Pedestrians and cars paraded by at a fairly steady rate. Without looking at Myka, he added, "And if it doesn't end there," he suddenly lowered his eyes to his clasped hands, "then the authorities will have to deal with the problem."

"If they figure out what's going on." Pete stated.

"Oh, I'm sure they will get the picture sooner or later. Eventually one of the cops or animal control would shoot someone or tranquilize them and see the metamorphosis for themselves and realize what they have on their hands. Someone with half a brain will put two and two together and comprehend that the animals they become match their newest tattoos. Surgical removal might be the trick to stopping their alteration later on."

Leaning in closer, Pete asked Artie, "Have do you want to contact all the business owners? Split up or be safe and stick together?"

"What would you prefer?" Artie sat back and interlaced his fingers across his stomach.

"You're leaving it up to me?" Pete asked incredulously.

"I'm open to whatever course you choose." 

Pete frowned. Clearly he hadn't expected to be put on the spot since Artie just normally stepped in and took over. It always seemed as if he'd already had everything planned out in advance.

"Well, I wouldn't mind us going in as a team."

"Which might make the artifact owner more defensive." Artie pointed out softly.

"But it would allow my vibes and your _intuition_ to work together," he countered.

Nodding slowly, Artie agreed. "True, true. Of course, the sooner we find the artifact, the sooner we can spare the town further attacks."

"Provided that the neutralizer stops the process right then and there," Myka chimed in.

"Granted, but we should only focus on the objective for now. In the meantime, we have to get the guy to show us the tools of his or her trade without arousing too much suspicion. If they think we're there to shut them down for some infraction, we'll only see what they want us to see."

Mouth grinning widely, voice deepening with dark humor, Pete asked, "What do you suggest, go in there looking like we are thinking about getting body art?"

Artie critically eyed Pete's business suit and clean cut good looks. "As long as you're dressed that way, you'll get their g-man meters pinning the needle."

"Oh, and dressing like that won't 'arouse suspicion'?" Pete countered sarcastically, fingers hooked in the quote gesture as he voiced the last two words.

Artie looked down at his casual dress—loose-fitting slacks, dark t-shirt under a solid wine-colored button down shirt, and the ever present black trench coat. "What's the problem?" he asked, sounding wounded.

"Duh, Artie. You look like a college professor. You don't look like the kind of dude who'd be interested in such things."

Nielsen pinned Lattimer's ears back with a stern glance. "First of all Mister Rogers, icon of kid's TV, was covered in tattoos. Why do you think he always covered up his arms?"

"No way!" Pete's jaw dropped in shocked amazement.

"Way," replied his boss, straightfaced.

"Really?" Lattimer's face took on that pinched, scrunchy look people often get when they can't tell if someone is telling them the truth or not.

Artie scowled. "No, not really," he sputtered in exasperation. "Just urban fiction but I can see why Claudia and Myka make fun of how gullible you are. Now where was I?" He rolled his eyes a second as he searched for his prior train of thought. "Oh yeah, second, I'm perfectly capable of concocting a credible story, thank you very much." He sat up straighter. "Enough arguing. I plan on being exactly who I am. And I intend to use the 'don't tell them much and let the badge do all the talking for me, method."

Myka just sat back and listened to the exchange, head swiveling back and forth from self-assured younger man to definitely wiser older man. "I think Artie has a point. This seems pretty straight forward. Ask to see the tattooing equipment. Tell them we are not at liberty to answer questions, while trying to allay concerns. And it'll all go so much faster if we split up. You'll stay with me and Artie will take his own vehicle."

Pete leaned forward, chin resting on his upturned palm. "Hopefully my vibes will start hollering at me and we can get it all over with quickly"

Myka smiled. "That would be nice. But in the event that your vibes aren't cooperating, just keep your eyes open for anything out of place, odd or unusual."

"Ah, the voice of wisdom and reason," Artie said pleasantly in his smoothest voice. The richness of it and the praise itself made Myka flush with pride, despite knowing that Artie had just successfully maneuvered them both into doing what he'd wanted all along.

As they prepared to go their separate ways, Pete whispered to his partner, "Did Mister Rogers have tattoos or not?"

"Yup. From his military sniper days. Really."

"So Artie lied to me when he said…" He stopped when he caught Myka biting back a smile in that way that said he'd just be fooled…again.


	11. Chapter 11

**oooooooooooo**

**Chapter 11**

**oooooooooooo**

The list of shops was divided between Artie and the team of Pete and Myka. They split up soon after in the hopes of covering their respective areas as expeditiously as possible before night set in.

Pete and Myka's first contacts went smoothly. The shop owners reacted more or less as Artie had expected. The badge did the talking for them but they also encouraged the owners to educate them in the art. The artists displayed their equipment, the inks, and tattoo machines, other medical supplies, their books and displays of designs, going so far as to give them a quick lesson. Myka listened patiently even though she'd already had one such experience which left her bearing the infinity symbol on her ankle ever since.

After turning into the proverbial bull in a china shop, Pete finally hung back in the open spaces, careful to touch nothing, while Myka conducted the basics of the investigation.

The third and fourth shops were open in their dealing with both the agents and, apparently, with the public as well. The last on their list was run by several women and tended to cater to a predominantly female clientele. The owners were personable, friendly, and as with the other three places, didn't do a blessed thing to trigger one of Pete's classic vibes.

Lattimer glanced down at his watch. "Dark in an hour," he informed her, giving the rose and gold sky a quick glance. "Time to give Artie a call, find out how things went, grab something to eat before the fun starts again."

The Farnsworth was open several seconds later. Myka depressed the red button and waited for the face of their superior to appear in the small round viewscreen.

"Try it again," Pete suggested when nothing happened in a reasonable length of time.

Giving him a perplexed frown which caused her nostrils to flare slightly, she did as suggested. "Nothing," she finally said even though it didn't need saying. He could see it for himself.

"Maybe he's in some busy place and can't hear it."

"Are you kidding, when it buzzes everyone can hear it even if they aren't sure of what they are listening to. It's not exactly a discreet sound."

Pete closed his eyes, trying to sense something, anything that would imply he needed to worry but proximity to peril or to the person in danger was two of the common triggers for his vibes and Artie was probably clear across town by that point.

"Let's not get worried over this," he stated, reaching for his cell phone. "We both know he'll ignore the Farnsworth if he's in a public place." He hit the address book and punched in the contact number, which conveniently was sitting in the number one spot alphabetically. He listened, and listened some more. "No answer," he finally informed her. "Okay, officially time to worry."

She race walked back to their vehicle and pulled out the list of tattoo parlors and closely studied the ones Artie was supposed to visit.

"We'll start with these places for now. Go from place to place until we catch up with him."

Pete craned his neck to see the list. The remaining tattoo parlors were spread out and far from their current location. "You know, I was just thinking—"

Myka gave him a cynical look which said, 'that's dangerous' but she didn't verbalize it.

Ignoring her unspoken insult, he went on, "It's also possible he got sidetracked and didn't visit them all yet, or he did get through every one and went on his own way afterward. This is a big honkin' city and there's a lot of ground to cover if he didn't stick to the plan. I'd rather not wander deaf, dumb, and blind. The motel is close. Let's check there first, see if he's back already, then we can try his list."

Frowning, Myka thought about this plan a few seconds. Finally, she nodded. Going to the motel wouldn't hurt in the grand scheme of things. Pete was right. It wasn't far and gave them a starting point. If Artie wasn't there, and something deep inside doubted he would be, they could get going and do what she'd suggested in the first place.

Pete and Artie's room was dark and silent. Nielsen's belongings were more or less where he'd left it and appeared undisturbed or unmoved since they'd vacated the premises in the morning. Outside, the sun had all but vanished, leaving an eye-straining dusk where everything appeared in shades of gray. Soon even the grays had faded to black or turned to orange as the street lights turned on.

"Still no answer," Myka said from where she sat on the corner of Pete's bed. She held both the Farnsworth and the cell phone in hands that were beginning to shake from clenching them so tightly. "I'm not going to sit around here and wait. Leave him a note, tell him we are heading out to look for him, and ask him to save us all a lot of trouble by phoning first!"

Pete stared at her a second, surprised by the abundant tones of concern and frustrating commingling in her voice, and then he reached for a pen and sheet of paper.


	12. Chapter 12

**ooooooooooo**

**Chapter 12**

**ooooooooooo **

The pain ripping through Arthur Nielsen's skull was nothing short of agonizing. He moaned once from the intense discomfort, the sound ringing in his ears. He tried to force his eyes open but they weren't cooperating, nor were his muscles. All he really wanted to do was get up and run as far from the pain as possible even though, deep down, common sense was telling him there was no escape from this unless it was the kind of release found in a morphine pump. And he seriously doubted that was going to help.

His mind found for control, parting the curtains of swirling reds, flashing lights, and boiling nausea that represented his torment. His eyelids felt like they'd been glued shut. All the while, a separate part of his mind tried to recall what had happened. An accident? A run-in with one of the 'were' beasts? Maybe a mugger, except what mugger would be trawling the streets with all the chaos and danger out there lately. Potential victims were safely locked inside.

He struggled to retrace his steps. Images came through the burning haze in a tangled weave of visions and perceptions. He vaguely recalled visiting the shops on his assigned list, collecting data, all of it apparently useless. No one had possessed ancient or suspicious looking equipment although no two tattoo machines were exactly alike due to modifications of the specific artists. He had a fleeting image of turning to leave the third place on his list. And then he remembered it, the crush of pain that flashed like strobing lights behind his eyes, setting off a roaring in his ears. Ultimately it ended in darkness and silence as the floor rushed up to meet him.

Panic cut into him like thousands of razor blades nicking every square inch of his skin. He once more tried to force his eyelids apart and he eventually succeeded. The vision that greeted him was blurred, unfamiliar, disorienting. He knew he was lying on his back, more from feel than from sight.

The room above him was seesawing back and forth to match the throbbing in his skull which only served to increase his nausea. Artie was grateful he hadn't eaten in a while because he knew he would certainly have lost his lunch otherwise.

Then the cold began to set in. He realized he had been shivering, rather violently, all along but was only then growing aware of it. The only warm spot seemed to be by his back. It didn't take long to realize this was because he was laying on something padded rather than on a hard surface.

Swiveling his head, he tried to take in his surroundings but the pounding his head was making this impossible even though he noted the merciless headache was abating somewhat.

Then a voice cut through the fog of disorientation and torment and it chilled him more than being entombed in a block of ice ever could have.

"Ah Arthur, how lovely to see you again!" The speaker, smooth British accent obvious and recognizable, leaned into view. He held something in his hands which he brought toward Artie's face. Nielsen tried to shrink away from those hands knowing they were up to no good but was surprised to find his vision clear as his ex-partner and arch nemesis, MacPherson, placed glasses on him.

"James!" Artie croaked hoarsely, his voice rough and scratchy. The sound of it was enough to make him cringe in discomfort. The headache escalated slightly from shock. '_This is so bad_,' he told himself. '_If I'm down and he's the cause of it, then I'm as good as dead_.'

He once more tried to move his arms but they appeared to be bound in some fashion. When he jerked as hard as he was able against the restraints, he became more aware of the patch of fire spreading outward from his chest.

Before he got a look at the cause, a glass blocked his view. "A little something for the pain. Wouldn't want you incapacitated when you can be having fun doing such wonderful things tonight. Open up Arthur."

The pills, Artie noted in close-up, were the typical size and color of liquid-gel Ibuprofen. Reason told him it wouldn't be poison. James loved the cat and mouse games far too much to be so obvious. Next, he thought about resisting out of sheer orneriness, but decided that anything to help him clear his head would help him think better. Besides, he knew he'd need all of his faculties and wits about him to get out of whatever MacPherson had planned. He had no doubts about that. And so, he accepted the medicine, chasing it down with water freely offered by MacPherson's own hand.

"There now. Sorry about the bump on the head and the drugs but I didn't want you to leave so soon. Let's wait until your head clears before we proceed, shall we?" He moved out of Artie's range of vision and it was several minutes before he returned. "Feeling better?"

Without waiting for a reply, MacPherson continued, "Excellent! Because I want you to fully appreciate this unique experience I am about to give you. Oh wait, let me rephrase that. This experience I _have_ given you." James smiled then, full and ripe with malevolence, and slowly swept his hand over Artie's chest as if displaying a rare car for a potential collector.

Unable to control the reaction to those words, Artie shivered. In spite of his overwhelming trepidation, he couldn't help but look down. All he saw was a large white sheet of gauze, with drying blood and splotches of various dye colors.

"Since you were so close to the truth anyway, I guess it would be no secret to tell you that there was indeed a tattoo machine acting as an artifact. Rather old as you've probably surmised." He paused as if to warm up for a soliloquy. Then he turned his attention back onto his captive audience. "Did you know that Thomas Edison held a patent for one of the earlier machines?. Of course it was originally intended to be used for embroidery but ah well, there are many industrious folks out there who modified it since then. He inspired folks like Charles Wagner and a bloke by the name of O'Reilly. But I've since learned that it was Percy Waters who got the patent in, uh, let's see now, 1929 I believe for what most folks think of as the tattooing machine."

He paused to look Nielsen full in the eyes, staring so hard it made Artie's head ache again. "Of course, since then most tattooing machines have been altered by their respective owners to suit their own styles, just as this one has been." He held up the device for Artie to see. It was indeed antiquated in appearance. "I've been informed that this one was handed down for three generations, with occasional modifications of course."

"You're babbling James," Artie said, growling deep in his chest, a sound that wasn't quite right even to his own ears. "Why don't you just tell me what you want from me?. Aside from the usual "to die" line."

At that, MacPherson let out a full blown laugh. "Oh, that'll happen soon enough, I suppose, but who knows. What I wanted you to understand first is that the tattoo machine isn't the primary artifact. In fact, a bifurcated artifact, ordinary without the special inks I acquired in India. In conjunction with the inks, the work of art that is created is very…special. As you've doubtless noted already."

He walked out of Artie's field of view and came back with containers of varying pigments which swirled and flowed as if possessing a life of their own. "Plan A was to hire an artist to do a special promotion. One of those private mailings for repeat customers gifting them a free tattoo. The only stipulation was that the art used had to be that of an animal of some kind. He was paid handsomely not that he'll need the cash anymore." Once more, he flashed an evil smile. "Those transformations were quick and met all my expectations. And let's face it, I knew you'd eventually hear about this and wonder what was going on."

Artie found his voice again. "And what would have happened if I didn't show up alone or if they chose to investigate this shop?" He didn't need to identify who 'they' were.

"That would have meant implementing Plan B or Plan C. I'm nothing if not flexible, Arthur. You just made it easier for me this way, for which I am eternally grateful."

"And I'd be grateful if I would join me for a little going away party back at the warehouse."

James made a few tsking noises, looked affronted by the suggestion, and stated in a lilting tone of voice, "I have a marvelous adventure planned for you too. You'll soon go on a journey few humans have been privileged to experience."

"Please James, don't do this!" Artie's eyes were pleading with him as much as his voice was.

"'Please', Arthur? My, my, so polite. I seem to recall the last time I tried that word on you, you sealed my doom with a quick push of a button."

He moved to Artie's side and raised the gauze, turning his head this way and that as if to admire the handiwork there. "Look at it this way. At least I'm giving you greater odds of survival than you gave me." He started to tug at the bindings, clearly loosening knots on one wrist. "There now that should be sufficient to help you get loose…eventually. Now, I do believe your companions will be showing up soon, so I really must be off. Happy hunting." He gave Artie a regal bow and walked toward the back of the shop, his laughter echoing as he disappeared from sight.

It took Artie nearly as long as MacPherson had calculated for him to free himself. That was mostly because his head and shoulders were still screaming out their indignation and he had to slow down or pass out.

Once free, the first thing he did was stagger to the back room. It wasn't that he expected his arch nemesis to be there but he did want to see if the shop owner was still there. Sure enough he was. Just as dead as MacPherson had promised. Artie swore softly under his breath. Another body left behind simply because the guy got greedy around a psychopath.

The next course of action was to find a mirror. Gently, he peeled off the gauze that stuck to a few scabbed-over wounds on his chest. And then he saw the thing. His blood, already pooling in his feet, shot right back up to his head making his sway with dizziness. There in brilliant hues and crisp dark lines above his heart was a tattoo of a large crouching beast. The creature was snarling, revealing a full array of sharp teeth, the prominent incisors looking deadly and lifelike.

"Oh no!" he gulped audibly. His throat constricted and his fists clenched. In seconds he was hunting for his trench coat, hoping to find either cell phone or Farnsworth, but none of his clothing aside from the slacks and shoes he still wore was visible. "Damn!" he hollered, throwing things aside like a berserker, flaming rage enveloping him like the desert sun at high noon. If his communications equipment was still there, MacPherson had hidden it well.

"James, if I ever have the chance to catch you, I swear on the graves of all the people you've killed that I will finish the job I started back in the Bronze Sector! Only this time I'll make sure there's no hope of reversing it!"

Artie paced like a caged animal as he struggled to calm his seething anger. Nothing was helping. The bump on the back of his head was yelling for attention. The fresh tattoo was flaming hot, throbbing with every beat of his heart.

He ran to the door, unlocked it and bolted out onto the street. His breath came in ragged gasps and the cool night air settled on him but he didn't notice because molten lava was filling his chest and spreading to his limbs. His blood felt like it was boiling and he threw his arms around his chest as if to contain the flow somehow. The shivering he felt had nothing to do with the temperature. It had to do with pure and unadulterated fear. Terror, mind-numbing and all-encompassing. He knew something awful was about to happen and he didn't know how to stop it.

Reason tried to flee. Instinct drove him away from that place in the hope that he could avoid the very help that he so desperately needed. Then the pain slammed into him again, driving him to his knees. He sobbed from the sheer power of it. The flames enveloped every square inch of his flesh.

Looking down with eyes suddenly better at piercing the darkness, he saw his limbs changing, shortening, fingers blunting, nails becoming needle sharp and retractable. His torso distorted, stretched, and he screaming at the agony of it. Hair sprouted thickly over every inch. He felt his facial bones shifting and writhing as they adapted to the new shape. Finally, he lay on the sidewalk, grunting and coughing, neither sound retaining any humanity whatsoever.

And then it hit him. Thirst and hunger savagely ripped at his gut, consuming him from the inside out. He inhaled deeply as the pain began to diminish, drawing in the strong scent of life all around him, most of it out of reach. But the need had to be met, the hunger assuaged, and he knew only too well how to go about doing it.


	13. Chapter 13

**ooooooooooo**

**Chapter 13**

**ooooooooooo **

"Third one," Pete informed Myka as they approached the next to last establishment on the list. "Lights are on inside."

"Maybe they keep later hours." Myka guessed.

Pete gave a quick shake of his head. "Not with all the freak show stuff going on lately. Almost all of the shops are closing before sundown."

Instead of replying, Myka simple nodded. He was right about this after all so no words were necessary. Hesitantly, she approached the door and froze. It was partly open as if someone had either gone in or out but had been lazy about seeing that it was closed properly. Pete suddenly drew his semi-auto as soon as Myka pulled out the Tesla. From the look on his face, she knew his vibes were clearly communicating danger.

As the well trained team that they were, they swung into the shop, guns at the ready, moving left and right, covering for each other as they worked their way toward the back. Pete crept cautiously into the back room and stopped abruptly.

"Oh man," muttered Pete. "Dead body."

"Mauled?" inquired Myka as she tried to gaze around him.

She saw Pete's head move left and right. "Nah, not unless it was by a gigundo snake. He's got two big honkin' holes in his chest. I'd bet on bullets rather than bites."

"So this isn't really much of a lead in finding Artie. It's a murder. And a fairly recent one at that, given the appearance of the body." She slipped latex gloves on and carefully moved the body so that she could replace it later just as she found it. "No hints about who did this. At least not that I can see."

On the way out, Myak caught a flash of white beneath a padded table. She snagged it between a gloved index finger and thumb, pulling it up to her eyes. "Covered in blood and inks," she commented, turning it for Pete's perusal. "Recent from the color of the blood."

"How recent?" Pete inquired.

"I'd say less than an hour or so for some of these." She went to a specially marked pail near the table and withdrew several other pads, all containing blood in various stages of turning brown. "I honestly don't know much about tattooing complicated patterns but I'd say that this person was probably lying here for a quite a while."

"Are you thinking that whoever got this work done then shot the artist when he was done?"

"Possibly," Myka said through lips pulled tight. She sighed. "We'll need to call this in, you know."

"Yeah, I figured as much. I'm just frustrated that we can't tell if Artie had been here or not. And if he did show up, was it before the murder or after?"

Shrugging with one shoulder, which caused the contents of her bag to rattle slightly, Myka replied. "First we make the call, then we talk to the police because we don't have much choice, and after that we go back to searching."

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. The police weren't long in coming despite the trouble on the streets and obvious lack of manpower. In fact, lots of cops showed up, as if they were eager for something commonplace to do for a change.

"Anything else you need to know?" Myka asked after an interminable number of questions.

The plain clothes detective opened his mouth but didn't get far.

"I really can't tell you anything else. It's exactly how we found him, as I've said at least five times before."

The detective wasn't about to be deterred that easily. "You said you came here looking for your coworker. Did he have a problem with the victim?"

"Once again, no. He didn't know the guy, I'm sure of it. And I'm not convinced he got here in the first place. We were investigating our own leads on an unrelated case—"

"—which you can't tell me about, yeah, yeah, so you said." He looked over his shoulders at the crime scene photographer finishing his job. "All right. I think I've got the basics. If I need to ask you anything else, I know how to get a hold of you."

Pete bypassed Myka, leaned in so that his breath ruffled the fine hairs beside her ear and whisper so low no one else could hear, "Not likely."

Smiling at him, she whispered just as softly. "What he doesn't know…well it will hurt him, but not right this minute." She grasped his forearm like they were going for an afternoon stroll and walked out of the shop onto the dimly lit streets. Some of the lamp bulbs here were not as efficient as others leaving harlequin patterns of light and dark on the pavement and sidewalks.

Suddenly, the scanner crackled and sputtered to life and they caught a call for an animal attack.

"Not far from here. Couple of blocks south," Pete informed her, already running in that direction.

"Pete? Wait!" Myka hollered after him, hesitating between her desire to track down Artie and her instinct to protect the helpless, to keep another mauling or slaughter from taking place. In seconds, she was bolting after him, her long legs stretching out to close the distance between them.

After a while, they didn't need to wonder about where the creature was or what it was involved in. The screams, bellowing from all too human lungs, led them right to the scene. A silver haired man, his body as stringy as an ill fed chicken, had tripped and rolled to his back. He brandished a recently emptied and broken wine bottle and was stabbing at a black shape trying to tear his throat out. The attacker looked at the newly arrived rescuers with impossibly green orbs, the color visible even in the dim lighting. It snarled at them, dark lips curling back from yellowed teeth.

With a quick slash of its paw, it knocked the bottle away and prepared to bite down on the man's neck.

Without any forethought whatsoever, Pete charged down on the beast hoping to scare it off. He let out a blood curdling scream, arms waving wildly. He looked very brave and very silly, Myka decided, although she couldn't decide which one actually fit him the best.

Mid-stride, Pete's shoe found the tiniest crack in the cement and seemed to stick to it like super-glue. Instead of looking like a dashing hero coming to the rescue of a downed comrade, he took a clumsy spill, saving his face from lots of bruising and a world of hurt only because he turned onto his side at the last minute.

Myka froze, horrified. The jaguar was now looking straight at him and to make matters worse, was within pouncing distance.

Habits kicked in. Myka drew the Tesla and without fear or hesitation, and pulled the trigger. The big cat, a full size Jaguar, tried to spring clear but wasn't quite quick enough. It landed in a heap beside the quivering and moaning body of the man. Pete struggled to his feet, acting every bit as drunk as the old man actually was. He glanced down at the big cat waiting for what he knew would happen.

In less than a minute, an unconscious male form appeared where the Jaguar had landed. The man's hair was close cropped and his body bore the physique of a military man or gymnast with hard sculpted muscles and next to zero body fat.

"If he wakes up, will he transform again?" Pete asked looked down at the were-jaguar.

"No idea," Myka replied, leaning over, her legs spread, hands resting on her knees. "Do you have anything to tie him up with?. I mean, it's not like he has anything on him that we can use."

Pete dusted himself off then shoved his hands in his pockets in a futile gesture. He knew he didn't have anything in them. Still, he did it for show if for no other reason. Then he smiled and looked at the drunken man. The guy may have been down and out but he wasn't shoeless. Even better, he wore hiking boot style footwear with leather laces.

"Hey man, time to part with the laces before this dude wakes up and tries to eat us both."

The guy looked at him, dumbfounded for a second, then the light in his eyes grew brighter. In no time at all, he had divested his shoes of their laces and Pete was tying up the were-beast as securely as he could.

There was one thing they hadn't counted on. That was the presence of other predators in the area, one of which was an opportunistic hunter, one that could kill if necessary but was just as happy taking the kill of other animals. There was a loud whuffing noise and a growl that was low and ominous enough to cause the secret service agents to sweat despite the cool air.

The were-jaguar was morphing again as consciousness returned, impossibly fast, his bellows and agonized screams rending the semi-darkness. He struggled to get loose but couldn't manage it. Pete had been more efficient in tying knots than Myka had expected. But that didn't mean the beast didn't struggle. It yowled once, sounding terrified.

_And for good reason_, Pete thought. The adversary stalking out of the shadows sported a solid long body, its large, powerful shoulders and neck covered by a huge bristling mane which framed a head that would have made any wild animal tamer think twice. The teeth it flashed at him were big, vicious looking, and clearly ready to do business. The tawny eyes glared at him with an unearthly hunger as if this particular beast hadn't eaten in a week and was willing to take down anything that even remotely lived and breathed.

"Nice lion," Pete murmured soothingly, palms thrust outward in self-defense. He repeated it again, drawing out the word 'nice' until it sounded almost like a sigh, only that time he also took two slow steps backward. His hand reached under this jacket to pull out his weapon. He heard Myka checking the Tesla and then the next sound was of her pulling her own gun. He didn't need to be told that she'd used up most of the charge on the Jaguar and there probably was not enough juice left to take down a bigger cat like this full grown lion.

The tawny predator seemed to know it too and its lips drew back, once more baring its enormous incisors, loosing a series of loud grunts, ending it with a roar that made everyone's hair stand on end. It also made the jaguar growl and hiss and bite at the bindings on its paws.

The thunder of pounding feet broke through the ruckus made by the two big cats. Pete and Myka pivoted to see a small group of officers approaching them, guns drawn, obviously alerted to the situation. It wasn't quite what they were expecting though, because all of them came to an abrupt stop when they realized they were facing not one beast but two and the bigger of them was the one dropping to a half-crouch in preparation of an attack.

The nearest officer took aim. There was no doubt, judging from the harsh look on his face, that he was going to take the animal down rather than risk any further loss of life, even if it ultimately ended the life of whatever man bore the mark of the lion on his skin.

The jaguar had finally bitten his way free of the cords and took off so fast that no one really had time to think about how to correct that problem. The lion didn't flinch, nor was he dissuaded from his next meal. If it wasn't going to be the old defenseless man, then the beefier men before him would just as effectively curb his unbearable hunger.

He moved farther, one slow step at a time, half-crouching and suddenly silent, his eyes never deviating from his intended prey. The cop's stance didn't waver. He said stiffly to Pete, "Get the hell out of my way."

Pete got ready to comply. And then his vibes started twisting his gut. It wasn't as if they were in obvious danger, not with all that firepower. But his perspective also changed. He felt like he was viewing a slow motion scene from a sporting event. The cop's gun took careful aim, his eyes squinting slightly. One step behind and to the right of him, Myka had drawn her pistol as well. The muzzle was trained on the animal.

Pete's head swiveled to get one last look at the male lion and saw something peculiar as the street light hit him. There, just to the right of the broad golden furred chest was a small bald patch with a small straight scar running through it. And as the head dipped for his final charge, Pete saw a matching hairless area just over the shoulder.

The lion went airborne. Enormous forepaws, tipped in needle sharp claws, stretched out toward Pete. The beast knew no fear and showed no caution. The fierce glint in his tawny eyes reflected an overwhelming compulsion to kill and devour.

Without any thought, Pete did several things at once. He ran several steps and threw his full weight against the cop, toppling him to the ground, knocking the man's aim off target. At the same moment, he was yelling for Myka to drop her gun and shoot the Tesla. Wisely, she didn't argue. The Tesla still had some juice left and she could only hope it would be enough. Bright lightning arcs roped and twisted, settling like a flaming white halo over the head of the lion as it was leaping toward them.

The beast looked momentarily confused and then dropped heavily to the road. Its forward momentum brought the grunting and twitching body right to Pete's feet.

"Hurry," Pete bellowed, as he scrabbled to his feet and jerked the cop upright. The guy's compatriots stood immobile and confused by everything that was happening. The sight of some weird ray gun shooting lightning was enough to paralyze them for several seconds. Pete's voice captured their wandering thoughts in a vise grip. "Single-use cuffs! You got any?" Hands outstretched, he beckoned them to hurry.

A few of the guys did have the long plastic ties that often functioned as hand-cuffs for use during riots. Pete snatched several of them out of their hands and quickly bound the predator's paws together. Myka was surprised by the gentle way he did this, as if he didn't want to further injure the animal that just tried to attack and consume them.

The lion was panting heavily, long pink tongue rising and falling between powerful jaws, his jowls quivering as he swallowed. His claws flexed in and out of their sheaths like he wanted to continue the attack.

"Will that hold?" Myka inquired dubiously. "Pretty thin bands for something so strong."

"It'll hold…for a while at least…," he turned his eyes down to their captive who was starting to struggle. "I hope!"

Glaring at the cops, Pete then asked, "You did think to call for Animal Control didn't you?"

The guy who Pete had taken down to the sidewalk threw daggers at him with his eyes but nodded. "Should be here any minute."

True to the prediction, the Animal Control officer showed up with a large truck. Pete eyed it speculatively. "Gonna need a bigger cage," he observed dryly.

That officer put hands on curvy hips, stood up as tall as her petite frame would allow, and said, "Hey, it's not like we get calls for lions, and tiger, and bears every day. Come to think of it, I don't think we've _ever_ gotten calls for anything like this. So this--," she gestured at the back of the pickup, "—is all you are going to get. Make due because you have no choice."

"I'd feel better if you tranq him," One of the cops stated. "Save us all a lot of headaches.

The woman from Animal Control clearly didn't like having her job description detailed for her but she reached for a large tranquilizer pistol, put a hefty looking syringe dart in it, aimed at the lion and pulled the trigger.

It took nearly thirty seconds for the beast's head to drop to the pavement. It took several grunting, cursing and sweating men working together to haul the body to the cage and push it inside. The lion's eyes, glassy and unfocused, looked peculiar. Pete and Myka drew closer as other parts of the animal changed, assuming more human proportions.

"Oh my God," the female officer spouted in horror. "I'd heard this was happening but thought they were trying to pull a fast one on me."

Myka moved next to Pete and nudged him with her elbow. "Time to move out before we get tied up with questions about how we always manage to be around when these things happen."

Standing like a brick wall, Pete refused to move.

"Pete?"

"Watch," he murmured softly. Confused, she turned her attention to the transforming creature and noticed familiar features reassembling on a round face, long solid torso growing shorter and pudgier, fur falling away, leaving pale skin that hadn't seen the sun in quite a while. On the skin just above his heart was a very recent tattoo. Both agents noted it was a male lion in rampant pose.

"Artie," she breathed out the name. "We almost…I mean, I almost…" she turned brimming round eyes on Pete. "How did you know?"

"The scars on the left chest and shoulder. I caught a quick glimpse of them…I wasn't absolutely sure…" Pete explained haltingly. "But I couldn't take that chance."

Closing her eyes for a second, Myka replayed the images in her mind. "I didn't see anything," she whispered, already berating herself.

Pete put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Neither did I until the streetlight hit it a particular way. Otherwise I would have missed it too."

From somewhere very close they heard a human voice, hoarse and weak, call their names or what passed for their names at any rate. Artie still lay within the cage, curled more or less in a fetal position, his skin looking bluish and dimpling from the cold. Without a moment's hesitation, Pete pulled off his jacket, opened the cage and threw it over Artie's prostrate form, effectively covering him from shoulders to mid thighs. 

"Hey, buddy, we're here."

Nielsen's eyelids kept fluttering closed as the tranquilizers pulled him into unconsciousness.

Stretching out a hand, Myka vigorously rubbed a still exposed forearm. That brought Artie's attention back to her. His lips moved, trying to form words through a haze of sleep inducing chemicals.

"MacPher—" he started to say.

"MacPherson, Artie? Was he responsible for all this?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah. Tattoo machine. Half of it. Inks other…" His eyelids drooped.

Myka shook his shoulder. "What about inks, Artie?" Her voice had grown hard, determined. She needed answers. Now.

Her boss struggled for mental clarity and almost got there for several seconds before his eyes crossed from the effort. Myka shoved a bit harder.

"Not so rough," Artie waved her off. "Ink bottles…in…shop. Look funny. Alive. Get neu…" he breathed heavily from the effort, "…neutralizer canister. Dump machine and inks in. May reverse proc…" With a long exhalation, he gave in to the drug's siren song.

"Damn it!" yelled Pete into the night sky. "MacNutty Pants strikes again. What is it with that guy? First he tries to kill us all and fails, then he tries to kill Artie and tanked on that too, now he's doing this? Why? Why not kill Artie when he had him helpless?"

Visibly, Myka shivered and pointed at Artie. "Because if things had gone as planned, he might have killed us. Or we might have killed him. We almost did." She grew quiet, somber.

"What kind of a maniac is this guy?" Pete growled ominously. "Tricking us into killing Artie or having Artie take us out first. And for what purpose?"

"Other than revenge you mean?"

"It's getting old is all I'm saying. And it's making me really wanna pound his ass so far into the ground that it'll end up poking out of the ground somewhere in China."

Myka leaned against a lamp post, and hung her head. She watched the Animal Control truck drive off, bearing its lone sleeping occupant.

"Let's get the canister and deal with the artifact."

Rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger, Pete asked, "Think it will reverse the process?"

"If Artie thought it might, that's good enough for me."

Together, they went to their vehicle, moved it to a spot near the shop, pulled out the silver canister, and prepared to enter the building, but not before drawing their weapons and doing a perimeter sweep. They brushed aside the crime scene tape, did a quick and masterful job of picking the locks, and scanned the interior.

The corpse had already been taken to the morgue. Very little else had been moved. There were a few tattoo machines in plain view but instinct told them MacPherson wouldn't have left a potentially valuable artifact laying around. They studied the dye containers.

"I wonder if this will work," Myka stated quietly. "You remember what happened with the last bifurcated artifact. We needed both together to neutralize them properly."

Pete eyed the dyes. "Do all bifurcated artifacts behave exactly the same way? I mean, MacPherson wouldn't have taken the machine with him without taking the dyes to go with it unless something was different about this whole set up."

"Well, unlike with Poe's book and pen which were created at the same time, more or less, the tattoo machine was very old and clearly these dyes are fresh. They weren't created together so maybe they can be neutralized separately."

"So it's not a classic bifurcated artifact?" Pete inquired.

"Perhaps not," Myka agreed uncertainly pointing at the container. "Give it a shot."

"Here we go," Pete finally said, sounding a bit breathless. He'd already donned his purple gloves and was holding up a jar of brilliant red dye. The contents moved around in whirling patterns as if something alive were swimming inside.

The canister lid opened with a soft hiss of decompressing air. Pete cautiously unscrewed the lid.

"Put the whole thing in, jar and all." Myka coaxed.

"No. Look at all the jars like this one. They're small but a bunch of them would overflow the canister. Keep looking for more like this and I'll pour the contents in."

Myka didn't wait around to see what happened when Pete poured the red liquid into the container. But she certainly heard it. There was a loud crackling and popping from where she'd just stood. Purple flashes rebounded off the walls.

"Booyah!" Pete exclaimed. "Talk about a killer light show." He dumped the fluid of several more jars into it with similar results. It took nearly twenty minutes to find and empty everything that looked suspicious and there was enough of it to significantly raise the level of purple goo in the canister. "I still wonder why he left these here for us to find them," Pete said quietly as he sealed everything up.

A slender index finger rose up. "One, transporting them would be difficult." A second finger joined the first. "And two, because he has more of it hidden away somewhere."

"Or he has the ability to make it himself. Scary either way," Pete muttered.

Myka eyed the neutralizer container. "What scares me is that MacPherson is still out there."

Pete didn't answer but his expression said it all.

They left the store as quietly as they arrived, ducking through and around the yellow warning tape, closing the door behind them.


	14. Chapter 14

**oooooooooooooo**

**Chapter 14**

**oooooooooooooo **

Both agents found Artie in a regular hospital emergency room cubicle. When he had awakened from the drug and remained human, the officers decided he was not an immediate threat. They'd mercifully given him a warm blanket and transported him for further examination. One uniformed officer stood guard outside the cubicle in the event anything unexpected happened but his relaxed stance when Myka and Pete walked up to him indicated he was no longer worried. They flashed their IDs at him and he sent them on in with a sideways swing of his head.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you guys," Artie said.

Pete noticed his boss still sounded a bit dazed but those dark eyes were focused directly on him and Myka when he spoke. Lattimer gave Nielsen a pat on the shoulder and grinned. "These fools giving you trouble?"

"Not as much as I hear I gave you."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Would you count trying to maul and eat us as trouble, Myka?"

Myka stifled a chuckle and adopted a no nonsense posture. "Actually, you tried to eat Pete. I was too smart to get in the way."

"Hey," Pete said, clearly affronted although it was hard to tell if the emotional display was real or fake.

It wouldn't have mattered either way. Artie's face was a study in embarrassment and all the facets connected to that particular emotion. "You don't know how sorry I am about all of this. I barely remember anything beyond excruciating pain as the initial changes took place. After that I don't recall a blessed thing until I woke up in the cage and even that's real fuzzy."

"Trust me, you weren't yourself—" Myka began.

"That's for sure," Pete finished, letting a chuckle escape his lips. "And we'll tell you all the gory details and lurid exploits the minute they let you out of here."

"Lurid…exploits?"

"Well, there was this panther, see, and you tried doing the jungle boogie with her, but she was having no part of it, so you…"

Artie's hands flew up suddenly causing the hospital gown to slip off his shoulders. In less than a heartbeat he'd repositioned it. "Okay, okay, save it for later. Better yet, forget it ever happened."

"Pete," Myka chided, her voice lilting as she said his name. "Let's not upset the boss, okay? Cuz if he morphs and mistakes you for the panther you'll definitely regret it."

Pete grimaced at the mental imagery. "Reality check," he told her, gesturing at something she was holding.

Lifting a large plastic shopping bag, Myka handed it to Artie. "Police investigators found your coat, shirts, and badge case in an alley behind the store. A wallet was still in the pocket of the coat. Your slacks were found around the corner. That's probably how far you got before the metamorphosis was complete. I have no idea about your cell phone. The police recovered your Tesla yesterday and returned it to me. Your black bag is still safe in your car."

"What about my gun?" he asked hopefully.

"Gone. No sign of it."

The next word came out as a soft, barely audible whisper. "Damn." He looked them both in the eyes before adding, "If he has it, then he has a potential murder weapon with my prints all over it."

The two agents didn't need to ask for clarification of who 'he' was. "Given his track record and M.O. that's a bit too obvious."

"Not if he takes out someone very prominent," muttered Artie, already considering whose death would bring about the biggest investigations and the most sensationalism.

Before he could finish pondering all the ideal candidates for a frame-up/murder scenario, two officers walked in. One was a detective they'd met earlier. Neither of the men bothered to introduce themselves. It also told Pete and Myka they'd been there at least once prior to the arrival of the secret service agents.

"Leaving us so soon?" he asked Artie without preamble after peeking into the bag with the clothing.

"I think I've seen quite enough of your beautiful city, thanks." His tone was mild yet firm. Clearly, he didn't want to anger the cop but at the same time, he wasn't hiding that the experience had been traumatic.

"Consider yourself lucky. If I hadn't seen it all for myself, I would never have believed any stories about tattoos that turn people into beasts. Instead, you'd be sitting in a cell awaiting arraignment for the murder of that business owner and spending all your free time explaining to me why you think tattoos can do that to people. And speaking of the dead guy, he was shot, not killed by an animal." The man's face was fierce and taut with frustration. "Ironically, there was no sign of a gun anywhere. I know you had one. Others have said you had one. So where did it wander off to, hmmm?"

"Perhaps the individual who attacked me also murdered the shop owner," Artie suggested, sidestepping the question.

"Yeah, that's another thing. About 'that guy'. Any idea who he is?"

Artie shook his head ever so slightly.

"And I don't suppose you can describe him for me, I mean, what with your training and skills in observation." He paused, staring down Artie who somehow found the strength to look him dead in the eyes.

"No, I was out of it. He hit me, remember? Bump on the head to prove it." He pointed one solid finger at the base of his skull. "It's all in the medical records which you can see with my blessing if they'll let you."

The man huffed loudly through flared nostrils. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavily laced with sarcasm. "If it were up to me Agent Nielsen, I wouldn't let you out of my sight until I found out what _really_ happened and why. However, you appear to have friends in high places. My boss informs me someone named Frederic, with a ton of pull higher up, vouched for you so you're all free to move on."

With that said, he turned and stalked off with his partner silently following on his heels.

"That's one thing to be thankful for," Artie stated sternly, waving at their disappearing backs, a smile plastered on his face. Keeping himself covered up with one hand, he used his other one to lift the bag off the gurney.

Myka tilted her head and looked at him curiously. "Counting your blessings?" she inquired with a slight smile.

"Indeed."

"Care to share?" Pete asked, equally curious.

In answer Artie pulled down the left shoulder of his hospital gown, but only far enough to reveal a large red abraded patch on his skin. Myka leaned in for a closer inspection.

"The inks," she gasped in surprise, "they've disappeared!"

In truth, not even the outline of the creature could be seen anymore. The repeated stabbing of needles had left the skin angry and abused but with the inks no longer there for definition it had no shape or form. "The doctor has informed me that this will eventually heal over as if nothing was ever there." He ran the fingers of his right hand gingerly over the spot. "I figure this happened to everyone with MacPherson's tattoos. After you neutralized the inks, all the tattoos probably faded like mine."

"The weirdness never ends," Pete commented dryly.

"No, it never does," agreed Artie as he covered the shoulder and made shooing motions toward the door.


	15. Chapter 15

**ooooooooooooo**

**Chapter 15**

**ooooooooooooo**

The sun was just rising as the trio of agents left the hospital. Artie, bundled in his coat, clothes, and the blanket given to him by animal control, slid gratefully into the back seat of Myka's vehicle. They drove back to their rooms and gathered up their special gear, carefully repacking most of it in the trunk. Artie's special doctor's/gadget bag, and the sealed canister of neutralizer mixed with the dyes that magically transformed man to beast were secured. None of them bothered to open it. That would wait until it the contents could be safely examined and stored inside the warehouse.

"Think MacPherson is still nearby?" Myka queried as she packed her belongings.

"Probably not," Artie commented coldly, anger bubbling up from deep inside his chest. "He's not one for watching the chaos he creates. Most likely he's en route to a preplanned destination and already working on some other fiendish plot."

Pete didn't know whether to shiver at the solemn pronouncement or to make a joke about it sounding like something from the pages of a suspense novel. He may have been better than most people at finding humor in the macabre but experience taught him that MacPherson and his machinations were nothing to laugh about. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut.

Since their flight wasn't for another couple of hours, they decided a hearty breakfast was in order as soon as they completed their packing. Pete scooped up his keys and pocketed the spare change he'd left in his other slacks. Last, he packed his dirty clothes, shouldered his bag and walked outside to toss it in the trunk. He hadn't gone more than four steps when his foot caught on the protruding concrete block in front of the vehicle. With a yell, he pitched forward, dumping his bag. Slamming the palm of one hand against the sideview mirror as he fell, he managed to catch his balance at the last possible moment by putting his hands down on the pavement. Groaning, he staggered to his feet and immediately slammed his head against the bottom of the mirror so hard it rattled the car. Both hands covered the back of his head.

Hunched over, he glared evilly at the offending mirror, and carefully rose to his full height. He took a couple of steps backward and tripped over the same barrier. Arms pinwheeling, he tumbled into Myka and Artie, who both righted him.

Pete let fly with some very colorful words.

"Having a bad hair day?" Artie asked ingenuously.

Myka answered for him. "Bad hair week."

Clearly Artie was intrigued, "Really?"

"He's been jinxed," she said with conviction. "Cars that won't work for him but will for me. The same with the Tesla and the Farnsworth. Tripping, You've seen some of it already."

"Constantly?"

"No, been pretty random but downright annoying just the same," Pete answered through gritted teeth. He angrily kicked at a small pebble by his feet. The innocent little rock hit a hub cap at a weird angle, rebounded and popped him in the knee with enough force to make him yell from the pain. "See what I mean?"

"Strange," Artie said, slowly stroking his goatee in that way he had when puzzling through something. "When did it start?"

Shrugging with his hands, Pete said, "Well, the guy next to me on the plane dropped his carry on right on my head."

Myka snickered at the memory. "Yeah, and later some kid bumped his elbow with a book. He did one of those reflex things…" she shot her arm outward as if it had been given a shock.

"That wouldn't have happened if you'd let me take the window seat. Long arms and tight spaces can lead to trouble now and then."

Artie was listening to the bantering with an intensity that told them these happenings may not have been mere coincidence.

"Oh no-no," Pete stuttered. "Don't tell me, I came in contact with something freaky on the plane, right?" He turned to look first at Artie and then at Myka. "Why do these things always come to me? Why not her for a change?"

Arties answer wasn't long in coming. "As Leena has said, 'You are in tune'. Artifacts sometimes sense this. You aren't exactly summoning them but you _are_ calling out to them simply because of your special gifts which act as a sort of bridge between you and them."

Pacing beside the vehicle but being careful not to get near anything troublesome, Pete asked, "So what did I come in contact with on the plane, and how the hell do I reverse the effects. Obviously I can't go back in time to figure out who had what."

"Maybe it will wear off," Artie suggested calmly.

"And maybe it won't," growled Pete, frustration giving his voice a hard edge. He rammed his hands in his hands in his pants pocket but yanked them out again when he realized he might need them to break another fall.

Their meal was uneventful which made Pete inordinately grateful. He'd been edgy and testy when he sat down but when no further mishaps occurred, he settled into his meal like a hyena at a fresh kill.

Myka didn't know whether to be astounded or repulsed at the rate he was shoveling it in, along with an accompaniment of the usual sound effects. She kept her eyes off his plate even if she couldn't distract herself from the pleasurable noises he was making. Mentally she shrugged, well aware that he got like this sometimes after a long and difficult artifact procurement. At such times, table manners flew out the window.

He ate in record time. Next to him, Artie was devouring a breakfast steak with a ferocity that made her wonder if some residual ink remained in his system. Looking down, she realized she had barely touched her no-yolk omelette with garden veggies. Slowly, she pushed it away and sat back, waiting on her partner and boss to finish. The wait wasn't long.

Unexpectedly, Artie picked up the checks. Fishing into his coat pocket for his wallet, he retrieved several bills. He patted his pockets with the hand not already clutching the money.

"Um, Pete…or Myka…whichever. Either of you have some change?"

"How much?" they asked in unison.

Looking at the check again as if he didn't already know what was on it, he pursed his lips a second and answered, "Thirty four cents."

Pete's hands dove into his slacks pockets before Myka could even open the change compartment of her wallet. Palm open and flattened, he counted out the money. He nudged aside a bright silver coin while digging out some pennies near it. "Uh, no, not this. Darn Canadian money pops up everywhere and then you're stuck with it," he said to no one in particular.

Artie and Myka had stopped to watch him if no other reason than to give them something to do. Myka saw Artie's torso lean forward suddenly, so that he was looking at Lattimer's hand.

"Hey Pete?"

"Yeah?"

Artie's voice was soft and curious yet somewhat restrained. "Where did you get that coin?" He gestured with one thick finger at the large silver coin.

Separating it from the other silver ones in his palm, he held it up without giving it a second look. "This one?" Without waiting for Artie to answer, he stated, "Someone pawned it off on me, I guess. You know, you get change and there it is. Only problem is that no one wants to take it off you next time you use change."

A hand came into view and Pete surrendered the coin.

Leaning over for a better look, Myka asked, "Something interesting?"

"Something missing," answered Artie in a hushed tone.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Pete queried with a note of suspicion in his voice.

"Let me tell you about this particular coin and maybe it will bring back some memories." Artie donned a single purple glove before taking it out of Pete's palm. He flourished it as if about to do a magic disappearing coin trick. "This little beauty is a Queen Victoria "Godless" florin. And while I can see why you might mistake it for currency from a foreign but English speaking country if you weren't looking closely, this particular one has a bit of a history."

Pete sat back, already knowing what was coming. But Artie was easily sliding into his role as artifact educator, so Lattimer let him run with the ball…or coin as the case may be.

"The 'Godless' florin was produced in fairly large numbers in the mid 1800's. It had gone through some design changes over that period and one such change is evident here. Now, the important thing to note is that it isn't unique in itself. As I said, quite a few were created. However, some of them, for unexplained reasons, were reputed to cause…" He paused and gestured at Pete with a sweeping hand.

Pete didn't disappoint him. "Bad luck!"

"Exactly!" Artie said, clearly enthused. "It was impossible to say if that was true or not for every coin minted. It boiled down to just here-say and rumor. But a few coins had a traceable history of causing their owners grief. One of them was stored in a bank vault to keep it out of anyone's physical presence."

He stopped his lecture, looked around the restaurant, lowered his voice to barely above a whisper and continued, "Eventually Mrs. Frederic obtained it and shipped it to the Warehouse for safe-keeping."

"So why was it here and in my pocket?" Pete asked, already getting hazy images of what really happened.

"Let me finish and it'll probably come to you," was Artie's rather abrupt reply. "As I was saying, it arrived in the Warehouse and I gave it to Claudia to catalog and put on a shelf. She'd only been inside for a month or so. Naturally, she opened the package but didn't pay attention to the safe handling protocols, picked it up without gloves, and you can guess what happened next."

"Something fell on her when she was in the stacks?" Myka suggested.

"She tripped and landed flat on her face," was Pete's guess since he'd been acutely aware of all the tripping he'd done lately.

Artie clapped briefly and then stabbed a finger in his direction. "Bingo! Give that man a prize!" He took a long drink of his coffee, draining the cup. "Claudia stumbled with it in the office, dropped the coin. It rolled heaven knew where and neither of us could find it. It _is_ the Warehouse after all. I figured it'd show up eventually." He leaned back, crossing his arms over his stomach. "So, did that explanation help matters any?"

Groaning, Pete looked up at the ceiling. "Yeah, yeah. I remember now." He trained his brown eyes back on his boss and combed his close cropped hair with long fingers before saying, "I had some coins fall through a rip in one of my pocket seams. I'd been meaning to fix it or have Leena help me, but…anyway, yeah, the coins fell. I got down on my hands and knees to pick 'em up and just scooped up everything that had rolled by one of the desks. I did a sweep underneath to make sure I caught anything that had gone under and out of sight. That's probably when I picked this up. I just didn't realize it. I shoved the change in my other pocket and…" he closed his eyes in thought.

"And that's when you came over to ask me what I was searching for on the computer," Artie finished for him. "I remember hearing the coins drop to the floor. It just didn't connect that you might pick up the bad luck florin."

Breathing a heavy sigh, Pete stated, "Well, that's a load off my mind. I'm assuming the run of rotten luck will stop now." He said it in such a way that it sounded as much a question as a comment.

"One would hope," Artie answered wryly. Then he caught Pete's worried expression and flashed him a half smile. "Don't worry. By all accounts, getting rid of the coin got rid of the 'curse'."

"Positive?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, that's the best news I've had all week." Pete called out in relief. "That is, aside from finding you alive and in one piece," he amended.

Artie bestowed a rare grin on him, and caught the waitress's attention with a quick wave of his hand. She finished warming up a cup from the next table over and then reached out for the money. "Keep the rest," Artie informed her as he prepared to stand. Pete and Myka followed his example.

"Look out!" a young voice hollered from behind them.

All three agents, trained to react quickly, did just that. They wheeled as a single entity, just in time to see a young busboy struggling valiantly to hang onto a toppling tray. He lost the battle. It came down at the foot of the waitress who did a very quick dance to avoid all the garbage about to splatter on her new shoes. She succeeded in moving away but collided with Pete's chest forcing him backward. His foot caught Myka's ankle and from there it was a short and sudden plunge to the floor.

Eventually, he rolled over onto his back and looked up at a perplexed Artie. "You were saying? Get rid of the coin, get rid of the curse?"

Bending over, Artie helped him to his feet, and made a show of brushing off Pete's suit jacket. His face settled into a mask of neutrality. "Coincidence. Pure coincidence. The curse is lifted, I assure you." Then he gently pushed Pete toward the door.

As a limping Lattimer exited, Artie pulled Myka aside and, in a stern whisper, stated, "Don't you dare let him drive! And don't even _think_ about putting him near me on the plane!"


End file.
